


Johnny.

by kreestar



Category: Fantastic Four (Comicverse), Marvel 616, Spider-Man (Comicverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 19th Century, Alternate Universe - Jane Austen Fusion, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Friends to Lovers, Jealousy, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Daken Akihiro/Johnny Storm, Minor Peter Parker/Mary Jane Watson, Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:15:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27092665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kreestar/pseuds/kreestar
Summary: johnny storm, handsome, clever, and right — with a comfortable home and happy disposition —seemed to unite some of the best blessings of existence; and had lived nearly twenty-two years in the world with very little to distress or vex him. (besides mr. parker who so loves to vex him)i.e., the emma (by jane austen)/spideytorch au
Relationships: Ben Grimm/Alicia Masters, Peter Parker/Johnny Storm
Comments: 12
Kudos: 87





	Johnny.

**Author's Note:**

> **reading emma and/or watching the movie is NOT a prerequisite for reading this!**
> 
> i've had this idea literally since i saw the film emma, so this was so exciting! a general note, my dialogue is not 100% historically accurate to the time period (because frankly who wants to write or READ that?) THOUGH i did try to keep as close to the vernacular of the book/movie dialogue as i could so don't be too hard on me, haha. 
> 
> _firstly_ : i'm sorry sharon selleck you had to be mr. elton. if you're familiar with the book/movie (which you do not have to be to read this) mr. elton tries to kiss emma and it just so happens sharon did the same thing to johnny (fantastic four #259) so frankly, ms. selleck, blame john byrne for making you a female version of mr. elton.
> 
>  _second_ : i have absolutely nothing against anna watson (mj's aunt) but, again, to fit the story i had to make her a bit irritating. she's irritating in that endearing old lady way, y'know? if that makes sense? either way i just wanted to clarify i do not have anything against this character she is just our marvel version of miss bates. this note is literally just me promising i dont randomly dislike an old lady.
> 
>  _third_ : i reference a waltz during the ball scene which is called the sussex waltz and you can find that [here!](https://open.spotify.com/track/1bV9N9F9QHilS9ZusAL6VM?si=VXZuGj9PSFGISsytw73-sg)
> 
> _FINALLY_ : thank you so much to [michelle](https://twitter.com/tonynats) for listening to me rant about this for days and giving me so much guidance and so many ideas. a girl couldnt ask for anyone better to cry about spideytorch with <3 also thank you [kit](https://nightwideopen.tumblr.com) for betaing a large part of this! so just a note any mistake you see is not them, it is 100% me because i'm pretty sure i fell asleep in every grammar class i ever had.

“I told ya’ kid, I’ll only be half a mile up the road.” Ben says through his closed door. Johnny sighs and leans his forehead against the doorframe while running a listless finger across the detailing of the doorpanes. 

“But there is such a difference between a Ben Grimm a floor away from me, and a Ben Grimm half a mile from me.” 

“Aw, kid.” Ben sighs. Finally the door opens, and Johnny is taken back by how refined Ben looks. His face must show his shock because Ben tutts, “I know how to clean up, kid. It is my wedding day after all.” 

“And you could _never_ be bothered to look this nice when I asked you to clean up— Right right, sorry.” Johnny lifts his hands in surrender at Ben’s withering glare. “No insults on your wedding day, pardon my manners.” Softer, and without any teasing smirk, he says, “You look wonderful, Ben. Ms. Masters is the luckiest lady in the village.” 

Ben narrows his blue eyes at him. He looks down at Johnny with skepticism for a moment before sighing and tugging the younger boy into a hug. 

“I love ya’, kid, you know that. And just because I’m gettin’ married don’t mean you won’t be seeing this mug every day.” 

“ _Every_ day,” Johnny repeats with his face pressed against Ben’s broad chest. 

Ben Grimm has been the stable hand at the Baxter estate since Reed Richards first came into town with a lopsided wagon and a trade to sell. Susan and Johnny Storm fell in love with the bizarre duo with their princely faces, and easy demeanor. Reed being awkward and nervous, and Ben brash and classically handsome. They were older than Johnny, of course, and now Sue and Reed were long gone to travel the countryside with his inventions and their dreams. 

The night Sue and Reed left for the great wide open Johnny had watched them leave from his balcony and cried silent tears of both pride and sadness. 

(Sue had offered a place in their carriage for Johnny. Of course she had. But their father is old, and terribly lonely since their mother’s passing. Johnny could not, wth good consciousness, leave him to wallow. He supposed the more selfish part of him merely wished nothing so tragic and lonesome would ever befall him at his father’s age — to have both his children leave him widowed and miserable. 

Ben had stayed behind to work Franklin Storm’s land. Johnny was not overly fond of the brutish older man, but of course it was only a matter of time before Johnny gravitated towards him like a lonely moth to a flame. Johnny now realizes, in hindsight, Ben hadn’t stayed for the melancholy Storm brother who was left to his own devices in a drafty manor, but rather the blind sculptress who lived as a tenant on one of Franklin Storm’s properties. Love is a wonderful thing, Johnny thinks with only a _tinge_ of bitterness.) 

After Johnny corrects his suit a number of times, Ben leaves for the church house. Johnny and his father ride in one of their finest carriages. Franklin was never a warm man, though he is not unloved and he does not _not_ love Johnny. He tuts and fidgets with his clothing — making off-hand comments about the weather and the style of Johnny’s hair.

“Everyone said Ms. Masters would never marry, but I did not believe it,” Johnny says conversationally. He watches the rolling landscapes pass by their journey with a superior smile. 

Franklin chuckles, “John, you should not make matches or foretell things. Whatever you say always comes to pass.” 

“I promise to make none for myself, father! But I must indeed for other people…” Johnny shares a private grin with himself and a goose that flies meters above them. “It is the greatest amusement in the world.” 

Once they arrive at the churchhouse, Johnny is not so naive to be ignorant of eyes turning towards him or conversations quieting to hushed whispers. He is Johnny Storm, undoubtedly the most beautiful person in the village, with exceptional wealth and poise to match. His father may be more of a recluse — and who can blame him, given the tragedy of his life — and while Susan was always primed to be the lady of their estate, she is now little more than a fascinating legend. A romantic hero off on her journeys, with a handsome stranger, and their brilliant children. 

Which of course, leaves Johnny. The pride of the village. The center of all the important gossip. The most lovely and the most fair (and to Ben’s utmost contempt, Johnny _knows_ this). 

“It’s cold in here,” Franklin harrumphs once they sit down. Johnny waves pleasantly at some of the local people whom he’s known since birth. Sharon Selleck, Julia D’Angelo, and Francis Raye being three of the most familiar to him. Across the aisle of the church house is May Parker, Mr. Parker’s aunt, and Robert Drake with his extensive and rather uncanny family. 

“Johnny! _Psst_. Johnny!” 

Johnny bites his tongue especially hard and schools his expression into one that does not show his already burgeoning contempt. He turns to see the matronly and most ridiculous Ms. Watson, with a hat the size of the crucifix at the center of the room, and a smile which is much too wide and shows far too many teeth. Johnny is certainly not cruel, and would never _be_ cruel to this woman who is strange and irritating, but he is certainly not thrilled to constantly be under Ms. Watson’s fawning attention. 

“Hello Ms. Watson—”

“Oh isn’t it beautiful today!” the woman nearly shouts, “Oh it is just _lovely!_ Isn’t it, May?” She now turns to May Parker who is looking down at her hands and pretending to pray. May looks up — exchanging a hilariously desperate glance with Johnny — before turning and plastering on a smile. 

“Of course, Ms. Watson—” 

“Oh, just lovely!” 

Johnny turns forward again, hoping he does not seem rude for stopping their failing conversation so abruptly. 

Franklin says under his breath, “So. Any word of Ben's mysterious nephew’s arrival?” 

Johnny frowns. He looks to his lap and fiddles with his trousers. “Ben said Mr. Akihiro would not be present. He is looking after his father who is ill.”

“I must say, Mr. Akihiro’s father is sick rather often—”

“Or perhaps Mr. Akihiro is just such a good son,” Johnny retorts quickly. 

His mind is often stuck on the allusive Daken Akihiro, who Ben insisted is of well birth and status. Handsome (“In one of those ways you’d like, hot-head.” as Ben so articularly put it), and clever. Johnny is no stranger to marriage propositions, but he’s hardly met anyone he would say to be in love with. For a time, he believed he was in love with the fair Crystal, who is the lady of the large estate to the north of him. Though time would prove Crystal was not in love with him. Looking back on it, perhaps Johnny was not in love with her either. But such things do not matter now - Crystal has a husband, and a child, and Johnny loves her in one of those fond ways one loves a memory. 

He believes he could love Ben’s nephew, if he really is so handsome and clever and what not. 

Mr. Parker believes Daken to be dull and rude, but what does Mr. Parker know about anything, anyways. 

Suddenly, the band begins to play a hymn, and the church patrons rise to watch the lovely orange-haired Alicia Masters’ walk down the aisle. 

The wedding is lovely (no thanks to Ben, whose style is as present as his nephew). Johnny sits around the Masters’ long dining table and watches his acquaintances chat amiably with one another. Ms. Watson goes on _and on_ about her beloved niece (the woman’s pride and joy), while May Parker nods along as a dutiful friend. Ms. Selleck sits across from Johnny and beside Ms. Raye. 

Johnny, though, longed to sit beside Ben. Though, of course, the man of the hour sits beside his bride, looking as flushed and thrilled as she. Johnny can't stop looking at them. He supposes the pain in his chest is born of yearning, but he stifles that. 

Over custard, he wonders what that sort of happiness might be like. The happiness that comes from within. 

—

A few days later, Johnny is sitting at his favorite windosill, looking out at the rolling fields of his father’s estate. On his lap is a long abandoned embroidery of some summertime flowers that, frankly, look more like ill-defined circles. 

He looks out at the long, endless green, until a blot in the horizon excites his intrigue. He knows who it is before the figure becomes clearer. Mr. Parker _refuses_ to take out his carriage, despite the fact it is woefully _un_ -gentlemanlike to ride on foot. He says he ‘likes the feeling of the wind in his hair’ with usually some dramatic and juvenile turn of his head — showing off said hair as if it were Rapunzel’s. 

Johnny instantly straightens and hurries into the parlor where his father is reading. He paces a moment, curious as to what to do with himself. He doesn’t want Mr. Parker to think he made such hideous embroidery, though he also knows the man well enough to know he can not fool Mr. Parker into believing Johnny would be _reading_ on a perfectly nice afternoon. Johnny does one more lap of the room before catching sight of the piano in the adjoining music room. Peter has always said he plays very nicely. 

Johnny sits at the piano and purposefully does not strike a key — just to eavesdrop on their new guest as he walks through the corridor leading to him, 

“—A gentlemen on foot, it’s-it’s. Well its—”

“ _Unnatural_ , yes I _know_ Herbie. Good evening to you as well,” his easy voice says to one of their butlers. 

Johnny begins to play. Just a simple, quiet tune. He wants to make himself known (and _appreciated_ ) but still is apt to listen in to whatever Mr. Parker is here for. (Johnny is always, so begrudgingly, fascinated by the man’s whereabouts.) 

“Hello, Mr. Storm.” Mr. Parker says to Franklin when he finally enters the parlor. 

Mr. Parker is tall and lean, with wide shoulders and a muscular build. His face is defined, his nose a bit crooked, and his eyebrows much in need of a plucking. His hair, similarly, can do with some semblance of styling. But the man, just two years Johnny’s senior, refuses such things. He dresses plain, he speaks casually, and he abhors refinement.

Mr. Parker’s parents had known Johnny’s before the former’s untimely passing. Peter has run their estate since with the help of his aunt and uncle. He is responsible, and brilliant, (and unfairly handsome), and he looks at Johnny like he is nothing interesting nor special at all. It is rather vexing to a person like Johnny, who is so used to receiving such affections from those in his company. 

“Ah, Mr. Parker. Come, have a seat, son,” Mr. Storm says amicably. Mr. Parker does so. 

(One thing, Johnny has always noticed, is that although Peter spurns all etiquette, he walks like a man who should be taken seriously.) 

“I was so remiss to miss the wedding. I’m sure it was lovely,” Peter says. When he sits, he unbuttons his riding coat, and crosses his legs. He has a knowing smirk on his face, and his head turns just the slightest towards the music room where Johnny continues to play softly. “So how did you all behave? I’m sure _some_ people cried most excessively.” 

Johnny purses his lips and sighs loudly. Peter’s smirk grows wider. 

At this point, there is no use trying to be casually unobtrusive, so Johnny simply stands and walks into the room with his head high. “We all behaved charmingly, Mr. Parker. Not a tear in sight, and hardly a long face to be seen.” 

“Oh, Johnny!” Peter says in faux enthusiasm. “I had not realized you were here! Had I, I would’ve brought flowers.” 

“You did not realize I would be here, in my own home, on an uneventful Thursday evening?” 

Johnny’s ministrations are ignored as Peter continues on in the same, slightly mocking tone. 

“Or would that be unseemly of me, considering your expected betrothal to one Mr. Akihiro?” Peter is looking at him with those brown eyes, his eyebrows raised in jestful curiosity, and his mouth pulled into that horrible smirk. Johnny crosses his arms and looks out the window. 

“Mr. Akihiro was not in attendance. His father is ill and he had to look after him—”

“Well his father is certainly ill often, is he not?” Peter asks sarcastically. Johnny groans and decides it better to just leave the room than deal with his friend’s torment. He spins on his heel and begins to leave through the far corridor, but unsurprisingly Peter jumps to his feet and matches his strides easily. 

Johnny’s father watches them leave with a look of mild confusion before shrugging to one of their butlers, and returning to his book as though Mr. Parker had never even entered. 

In the corridor Johnny is too trying to pretend Mr. Parker had never even entered, but as is so characteristic of the man, Peter is making that nearly impossible. 

“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings—”

“Yes you did—”

“Okay perhaps just a _little_ , but only because your infatuation with this man you do not even know is absurd—”

“It is not absurd for me to fancy a _handsome_ , _distinguished, gentleman_ , Mr. Parker, especially considering I have never met one before.” 

Behind him, Peter makes some horrific gasping noise. Johnny stops in his tracks and turns, his heart instantly racing assuming Peter perhaps suddenly tripped, or bumped into something, or _heaven’s forbid_ is having some sort of medical attack—

Peter is gripping his chest with both hands and says in a whisper, “You wound me, Mr. Storm. How shall my heart ever recover from your biting words—”

“Oh you… You insect.” Johnny says with his fists clenched and his eyebrows furrowed. Peter cackles. 

“Listen, Johnny,” Peter says once Johnny tries to continue walking again. Peter holds his elbow and walks into his space, “If Daken Akihiro wanted to be at his uncle’s wedding, he would’ve been there. All I’m trying to say is you’ve been pining after this gentleman who you know little of, and who has made _no_ effort to come to meet you. He hasn’t even cared enough to visit his uncle who, as I presume, is some of the only family he has aside from his ailing father.”

Johnny looks down at his feet rather than Peter’s painfully honest brown eyes. He would say the man is wrong, but they’ve known each other for over a decade at this point. Peter _knows_ him, something that can be said of few. This fact frightens Johnny. 

“What do you know of _dependence_ , Mr. Parker?” Johnny says. He straightens his back, and looks up again. He smiles — a private, mischievous grin he reserves for spats with Mr. Parker — “You’ve always been your own master. Perhaps Daken’s father really is ill. Would you suggest he leave a poor man to his lonesome?”

Peter drops his hand from Johnny’s arm, and raises an eyebrow. That _smirk_ is back. “What do _I_ know of dependence?” 

Johnny nods and turns abruptly. He continues walking down the corridor, knowing very well that Peter will follow (which he does).

“What do _you_ know of tempers to manage,” Johnny says just as his father begins to shout at the butlers to bring a screen into the room to protect him from some draft which sneaks in through their old windows like a field mouse. 

“O-ho, my dearest Johnny, I shall remember you asked me that next time you quarrel with me.” 

**_AUTUMN_ **

Autumn comes not unkindly — Johnny is saved from his usual headaches and chills. It’s been only a few weeks since Ben’s wedding, and finally Franklin had contacted a local man about filling their vacant stable hand position.

Mr. Storm, being a gruff and unfriendly man on his best days, does not concern himself with matters such as interviews nor character-assessments, so Johnny takes full responsibility of welcoming their new employee. 

Johnny enters the parlor and sees a broad man sitting on one of his father’s armchairs. At his entrance, the young man stands and Johnny actually trips over a footrest when the man is at his full height. The _giant_ lurches forward and catches Johnny by the biceps — nearly lifting him right off the ground as he straightens him to his feet.

“Woah there, Mr. Storm, are you alright?” His voice is surprisingly soft, with a faint American accent. He has tanned skin, a straight nose, and the kindest eyes Johnny has ever seen on a person. 

“Yes, yes, sorry,” Johnny says quickly, “My feet have a mind of their own sometimes. You must be Mr. Wingfoot.” 

“Wyatt will be just fine, sir.”

“Well then I insist you call me Johnny.” 

Wyatt’s smile is as kind as his eyes Johnny notes pleasantly. He has straight white teeth and, delightfully, two dimples. 

They sit for afternoon tea, and chat about pleasantries and their earlier lives. Wyatt is a native from the states, who left on a cargo ship to the United Kingdom and never looked back. Johnny can only imagine the struggles of his life, and while he’s curious to know more about such, he can tell his lunch partner is not in a particular mood to bring up difficult pasts. Johnny respects that, of course. 

Wyatt has lived in the village for almost a year now, having spent the previous few months boarding with the Walters on their farm, which is a property of Mr. Parker’s. 

“Yes, I know the Walters. They know Mr. Parker quite well, I believe. And they’re related to the doctor in town, correct?” 

“Yes, Dr. Banner is most talented,” Wyatt says sagely, “As is Ms. Jennifer Walters, the family’s only daughter. She’s to take over the farm in a year, as her parents are far too old to continue all the labor. She’s perhaps the strongest woman I have ever met, in both will and demeanor.” 

Johnny sips slowly at his tea, his mind admittedly wandering as Wyatt continues on about Jennifer Walters. Johnny believes he met the woman before, some years ago, but he cannot put a face to the name. Therefore, he is rather uninterested. 

“Well, I suppose you should meet your predecessor to better understand your new job!” Johnny suddenly pronounces — interrupting Wyatt’s continued ramblings of Ms. Walters. Wyatt nods eagerly, un-offended by Johnny’s change of conversation. 

“You see the man who used to hold the position, Ben, is one of my dearest friends. But please, do _not_ tell him I said this.” 

Johnny hands his empty cup of tea to a butler and stands, brushing nonexistent crumbs off his lap. Wyatt stands with him. 

“Mum’s the word, Mr. Stor— I mean, Johnny.” 

Wyatt sets his own tea down, and Johnny notices he had not even taken a sip. He believes he heard somewhere that American’s prefer coffee. Johnny knows Mr. Parker prefers coffee, but Mr. Parker is an enigma to all. 

The day is balmy and pleasant, so they decide to walk to Ben’s rather than take out the carriage. Wyatt is a listener in a way Ben never was. While Ben is crass and interrupts most of Johnny’s gossiping, Wyatt nods along and even asks questions. By the time they reach Ben and Alicia’s home, Wyatt is up to date on all the village gossip, and more. Johnny supposes Wyatt _has_ to be hired now, considering he knows all of Johnny’s most treasured secrets. 

“You truly are a wonderful storyteller, Johnny!” Wyatt laughs before they enter Ben’s. Johnny smiles so wide, his cheeks begin to hurt. 

Joining Ben and Alicia is Sharon Selleck, who is inquiring about Alicia’s sculptures for the purpose of trade. Johnny waves to her, but ultimately does not engage further with the want of seeing Ben as soon as possible. 

It’s no surprise to Johnny that Ben is in the backyard, yelling at some chickens for not obeying him. 

“The face of domesticity, Mr. Wingfoot,” Johnny says loudly from the threshold to the back fields, “Mr. Benjamin Grimm!” 

Ben waves his free hand in Johnny’s direction, saying as more an afterthought, “Shut it, kid, I’m tryna get these damn birds to quit fightin’—” 

“Ben, would you please at least have a moment’s decorum to introduce yourself to the man who will be taking your former position at the estate?” Johnny groans. 

Ben finally looks up from the chickens to see the hulking man at Johnny’s side. He whistles. “Well, Jack, I didn’t know you were in the market for a man 8 meteres high, I woulda planted you a beanstalk” 

Johnny feels his entire face blush. He is of course used to Ben’s very strange brand of endearments, and only prays Wyatt not be offended by Ben’s candidness. 

To Johnny’s utmost relief, Wyatt laughs heartily and replies, “Well I’m certainly glad you didn’t, sir, since I could certainly use a job.” 

Ben steps forward and shakes Wyatt’s hand, clearly thrilled the young man not only accepted his joke but replied in earnest. Eventually their party of three moves indoors at Alicia’s summoning. Ms. Selleck sits beside Johnny and chats his ear clean off his head. Sharon is nice, though a bit awkward. Harmless, although a bit peculiar. She is of excellent birth, has a plethora of knowledge of the arts and music, and is not _un_ attractive, per sé. Johnny looks at his newfound employee — and _friend_ — Wyatt, and an idea strikes him like a bolt of lightning. 

“What about you and Ms. Selleck?” Johnny says on their walk home. Wyatt’s laugh sounds a bit incredulous, though Johnny can not deen why. 

“Ms. Selleck… Oh I don’t know—”

“She’s of a very prestigious family, and I’m sure she will bear the most darling children — don’t you think? She is also funny, sometimes… Which is perfectly wonderful for someone like you, who is funny all the time!” 

Johnny looks over (and _up_ ) to catch a faint redness on his new friend’s cheeks. Wyatt shrugs his wide shoulders and says, “Thank you, Johnny.” Johnny opens his mouth to continue, when Wyatt interrupts; “What of you, Johnny? I do wonder why you should not be married soon, so charming as you are.” 

Johnny is not sure if Wyatt meant to distract him with flattery, but it works. Johnny preens under the attention and says with an air of indifference, “I have none of the usual inducements to marry. Fortune I do not want. Employment I do not want. Consequence I do not want.” He ticks each off with his fingers. 

Wyatt chuckles under his breath.“But what of love, Johnny? Do you not want love?” 

Johnny keeps on a pleasant mask of apathetic playfulness, despite the fact his stomach knots at the very mention of the words _want_ and _love_. 

For some absolutely _absurd_ reasons he thinks of Mr. Parker, many years ago, strutting about his estate and shouting that he was _in love_ with a french pastry that Johnny had prepared _all by himself_.

Back in the present, and still with a strange stomach ache, Johnny merely tsks and says no more. For really, he has nothing to say at all. 

—

A week after Wyatt is hired, Johnny drags him along to the village to shop for some new ribbons. It’s two months till Christmas, and Johnny would willingly die before being empty-handed for his sister, brother-in-law, niece and nephew. 

Johnny and Wyatt were walking back to Baxter when a loud, tall, and strikingly lovely woman came running up behind them - spooking them both. Johnny leapt nearly a meter into the air, but Wyatt just hugged the woman like he hadn’t seen her in years. 

“Oh Jennifer!” Wyatt gasps. The woman, _Jennifer_ , laughs loudly, 

“Oh Wyatt!” She mocks. Johnny ducks his head and walks a few paces away to give them a moment of friendly privacy. 

Jennifer says something absurd, and Wyatt laughs harder than Johnny has ever seen him. It reminds him of the first time Ms. Masters visited the estate, and Ben had not looked at Johnny even once the whole day. It reminded him of when Reed would take Sue’s hand, when he thought no one was around to see. 

They spoke for a few more minutes of Jennifer’s farm, Wyatt’s new job, and the comings and goings of provincial life. Johnny waved pleasantly to people he knew who strolled about, and tried not to look as strange as he felt. 

“So what do you think of her, Johnny?” Wyatt says once he bids Jennifer a farewell, and rejoins Johnny’s side. 

_She’s beautiful,_ he thinks bitterly. _She’s beautiful, and clever, and she will steal you away from me, my friend, just as love always does._

Johnny nods once, stiffly, and says most magnanimous, “Pretty.” 

Later that night, Franklin is having one of his bi-weekly medical evaluations by Dr. Banner. It also happens to be one of the bi-weekly nights Mr. Parker comes over for supper. Since Peter first inherited his estate he would come over to chat about property, economics, and politics with Franklin. Tonight, Johnny had kept himself entertained with Wyatt the entire dinner, utterly uninterested in Peter’s very _long_ and very _verbose_ detailing of the ‘peculiar weeds’ which have sprouted on one of his tenants’ farms. 

While Franklin is attended, Wyatt sketches with charcoal on a large pad of parchment, and Johnny tries to fix the embroidery he is convinced will never cooperate. Adjacent to him, Mr. Parker sits in an armchair with his legs crossed, and a book perched on his lap. Johnny speaks of Ms. Sellek’s beauty and capacity most ardently. Wyatt listens dutifully, as he always does, and agrees with Johnny when he is prompted to. 

Johnny is an excellent match-maker, because everyone has told him so. Afterall, it was Johnny who made a number of successful pairings in the village, so he should know what he’s speaking of. Wyatt does not seem overly engaged by the prospect of Ms. Selleck, but he will be after enough convincing. 

(Plus, Ms. Selleck has promised her family she would not wed for at least another three years. _And_ Ms. Selleck lives significantly closer to Baxter than the Walters’ farm which, of course, has no sway in Johnny’s very astute opinions of their perfect pairing). 

They sit in amiable silence for a while before Wyatt says gently, 

“Surely you are in good health, Johnny?” He motions to the far side of the room where Johnny's father is being taken care of. Franklin is superstitious, paranoid, and utterly convinced he will be felled by the same illness which took his wife. The doctor’s visits are unnecessary, and yet required. Johnny smiles and replies, 

“Yes. My father is just… Precautious.” He looks at his father for a moment longer before turning back to Wyatt. 

Wyatt continues, “I assumed you must not be prone to many illness, considering your golden complexion and the natural shine of your hair. You know,” Wyatt chuckles now, friendly and not mocking, “Mrs. Grimm believes you to be the most beautiful boy in all of England.”

Johnny preens. He glances to his left when he feels eyes on his profile, and sure enough Mr. Parker is looking at him most unimpressed. Johnny raises his eyebrow and turns from Mr. Parker, back to Wyatt, while saying, “Now Wyatt, you must never flatter me in front of Mr. Parker. He thinks me vain enough already.” 

Johnny then turns back to Peter who is still reading his book as he says, almost as an afterthought, “I do not consider you _personally_ vain.” He looks up, his eyebrows slightly furrowed, as he says, “Considering how very beautiful you are, you actually seem little occupied by it.” 

Johnny feels like his hands have gone suddenly numb on his lap. Mr. Parker continues to just look at him - his face unreadable, despite the way his hands grip his book with sudden vigor. 

The strange moment passes, and Mr. Parker clears his throat as he finishes, “Your vanity lies in different ways.” He spares a quick glance to Wyatt, before looking at Johnny again. Johnny is not sure what he is implying. Though, knowing Peter, he will not let his criticisms of Johnny remain so ambiguous. 

**_WINTER_ **

Johnny is being fitted for his Christmas suit - standing sentry and regal amongst two tailors and a gaggle of maids who fawn over him like he’s made of porcelain. 

Wyatt comes rushing in, startling the tailor who in turn pricks Johnny with a needle. Johnny gasps, Wyatt begins to apologize for nothing in particular, and the tailor looks moments from fainting. 

“It’s _okay_ , Mr. Zelinsky,” Johnny is hurriedly reassuring while looking imploringly at Wyatt. Wyatt is holding a letter, looking both lost and thrilled all at once. 

“It’s a letter from Ms. Walters.” He says in a flourish. Johnny’s heart drops to the very pit of his stomach.

“She… She said she’s ready to marry. She wants me… Well Johnny, she wants to _be_ with me! I…” He looks down at the letter reverently. Johnny can do nothing but gape at him. His last companion in this large drafty home, looking down at his ticket out. Wyatt looks up then, his brown eyes searching and conflicted “What should I say? Johnny, you’re the one who’s good at this type of society stuff. Am I too young? Should I wait? I don’t know…”

“I cannot tell you how to _feel_ Wyatt, nor can I draft a reply to Ms. Walters which comes from _your_ heart.” He says. 

Wyatt is staring at him. Hopeful, and confused, and trusting. 

“Well…” Johnny begins tentatively, his mind racing ahead of himself. He looks at Wyatt and chews his bottom lip. After what feels like an eternity of consideration, he says slowly; “I suppose what _I_ would say…”

—

 _“How could you!”_ is Mr. Parker’s greeting. Johnny had been on his way to the stables to work on the wheels of his carriage (he loves working with his hands, especially on the wagons), but the lanky bane of his existence had conflicting plans, apparently. Johnny groans in premeditated frustration as Mr. Parker interrupts his path. “How _could_ you, Johnny!”

“What in the world are you getting yourself in hysterics about—“

“Oh don’t play, dumb, it’s an unbecoming look on you considering we _both_ know you are, surprisingly, less dumb than you would appear—“

“Well, isn’t that a charming flattery, Mr. Parker—“

“You told Wyatt to refuse Ms. Walters,” Johnny turns and walks down the corridor he had just come from, his afternoon plans sadly forgotten. Peter follows behind him like a gnat. “I was just speaking to Ms. Walters herself, who is rather hysterical, mind you! All because of this ridiculous proposition you concocted between Wyatt and _Ms. Selleck_ — _“_

“Peter, you imply I control a perfectly independent man like he’s some sort of puppet! That’s incredibly insulting—“

“You _know_ Wyatt looks up to you as both a friend and mentor, and you may be his only friend here aside Jennifer Walters whom he just recently, and quite uncharacteristically, _rejected_.” Peter scoffs. Johnny makes a sharp left and walks through their dining hall. Young butlers scatter from the room at the sight of the gentlemen who remain so consumed in their own conversation, they do not notice. 

“I just think Wyatt can do better than some farmgirl—”

“Some _farmgirl?_ Well pardon me, your majesty, I had not realized I was in the presence of such royalty—”

“Excuse me for wanting the best for my friend!”

“You want the best for yourself!” 

“If the best for my friend also, so happens, to be the best for myself—”

“You _know_ this is not the best for Wyatt.” Peter grabs Johnny’s elbow, halting his quick foot before he could start mounting the stairs to the second floor. Johnny spins around, bitterly noting Peter’s strength, and looks into his eyes with as much contempt as he could muster. 

“And it is _deplorable_ of you to reduce Jennifer Walters to her status.” Peter’s tone is like venom. His face is as disgusted as he sounds, “It is utterly beneath and unlike you.”

Johnny is humbled. He bows his head and looks away. 

“I just think Ms. Selleck is a better match—”

“Then you’re lying to yourself as well as Wyatt. But you are not lying to me. I have known you too long, and too well, to believe these stories of yours. You do not want this friend to move away the way Ben did, so now you turn your aggression onto the notion of love instead.” 

“I have no disagreement with the notion of _love_ —”

“If you did not, you would not work so hard to undermine it.” Peter drops his arm and shakes his head. The fight has burned out of him, the way it usually has after they go a few rounds of uncivilized shouting. Johnny crosses his arms across his chest and sighs as well, feeling just as suddenly deflated. 

(A few nights ago, Johnny had heard Mr. Parker speaking with his father in the drawing room. They were sipping scotch out of small glasses and standing beside the fireplace. Johnny was about to make his presence known when he heard his name, and thus decided it best to remain unseen. In his opinion, true affections are only ever made known through anonymity. 

“—he insists he does not want to marry.” Franklin says, with a chuckle. Mr. Parker scoffs, “Which means nothing.” Johnny feels momentarily offended, though he is not sure why. He is about to leave when he hears Mr. Parker speak again, in a voice so quiet it is nearly drowned by the crackling of the fire in front of him. 

“I should like to see Johnny in love.”) 

**_CHRISTMAS_ **

Johnny is woken up by the very peculiar feeling of miniature fingers poking at his nose. He presumes them to be spiders, at first, and gasps awake in a horrified flourish. Though it is not spiders. He is face to face with a baby who is grinning wide and toothless and - dare he say - wickedly. The baby is being held by his equally wicked, and equally lovely, sister. At her side is a bouncing young Franklin, who tugs on Johnny’s sheets and shouts to high heavens, “Uncle Johnny! Uncle Johnny ge’up it’s Christmas!” 

“Time to wake up, baby brother!” Sue shouts. From the doorway, mild-mannered Reed Richards coughs through a chuckle and says weakly, “Susan, let the poor boy get dressed at _least-_ ” 

Valeria is still poking damp figures at his nose (why they are damp, he is grateful to be ignorant), Franklin is screaming at a pitch which would make the continent’s best opera performers envious, and Sue is singing some Christmas jingle in her _wretched_ singing voice. From the corridor outside his room, he hears Ben’s gruff voice complaining about his chickens, while Alicia Master’s laughter rings like church bells. 

Johnny can not put to words, nor thoughts, how utterly overjoyed he is to wake up. 

When the house is as noisy as it is when Sue and Reed come to visit, Johnny finds himself in much higher spirits than normal. He loves the sound of Franklin’s footsteps racing up and down corridors as much as he loves Valeria’s inarticulate child-speak. Reed busies himself by regaling all of his adventures to Ben, who listens with a look of such soft affection on his hard face. Meanwhile, Sue interrupts to add details which Johnny would find interesting. 

For example; “-and then, the Duke _himself_ came to meet us, and we explored his home with his company.” Reed says. Sue gently interrupts him with an arm on his bicep, turns to Johnny and says in turn, “The Duke is a man named Victor, who is madly in _love_ with Reed, but I believe him to be a vampire. Or perhaps a warlock. Either way, I believe there is a portal to hell in his basement - which undoubtedly doubles as a dungeon.” 

Johnny laughs for the majority of the day. He can hardly be melancholy when his sister is in his company, and it must be criminal somewhere to be downtrodden during _Christmas_. His argument with Mr. Parker is lost from his mind. 

Before dinner they sit in the main parlor. Ben and Reed are telling old stories from their years at university, while Sue does her daughterly duty and listens with the most convincing enthusiasm to her father’s complaints. Alicia is on the ground with Franklin, drawing butterflies and trees and happy families on pieces of parchment. 

Johnny occupies a loveseat with Valeria in his arms. The side of her face is pressed to his chest as she dozes off peacefully - her tiny hand clutching his left index finger. She looks so similar to Sue when she is so at rest - but then again, she _also_ looks like Sue when she is doing ridiculous things like knocking over her brother’s toy blocks, or tugging on Johnny’s hair. 

“Oh, why hello Mr. Parker.” Reed suddenly says. Johnny looks up and sure enough, hovering in the threshold of the parlor is the catalyst of his most recent woes. Mr. Parker looks around the room with a genial smile. 

“Ben, I see our gentile companions have brought you around to their celebrations?” Peter says. Just then his eyes meet Johnny’s and the smile momentarily freezes on his face. He looks struck by something, though Johnny is not sure by what. At least he does not look angry. 

“Look who’s talkin’,” Ben replies, snapping Peter out of his peculiar reverie, “I see you here for the eggnog, and merry, and what have you.” 

Mr. Parker has this small grin on his face when he says, to no one in particular, “Well… I suppose I come for other reasons.” Though the inconclusive words are forgotten once Franklin hops to his feet and wraps his small arms around Mr. Parker’s knees, 

“I miss’d you!” He says astutely, and of _course_ Peter simply melts right on the spot. He drops to his knees and hugs the boy properly while smiling from ear to ear. 

Reed and Peter talk with one another about business and their day-to-day lives. Johnny continues holding Valeria, and he is want to do little else. Eventually Ben, Alicia, and Franklin drift from the room to find Sue and Mr. Storm, and Reed similarly jogs off to answer some telegram which had come for him. Leaving just Johnny, Valeria, and Peter. 

It’s only moments after everyone is gone that Peter sits beside Johnny on the love seat with a quiet sigh. One of his arms stretches over the back of the seat, behind Johnny’s head. He settles his long legs — crossing them, as he always does — and in the jostle to get comfortable he ends up pressed against Johnny’s side. 

Peter leans over a bit to look down at Valeria. He smiles, and runs his fingertips feather-light down the side of the sleeping child’s face. He whispers to Johnny, 

“Let us be friends?” 

Johnny scoffs as quietly as he can. Peter turns his face to look at him with a inquisitive expression, and Johnny can only smile at him like perhaps Peter is the stupidest man on the planet. 

“That has never, and _will_ never even be a question, Mr. Parker.” 

Peter bites the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing — and Johnny knows this because of how close their faces are. Peter looks down at Valeria again, and whispers to her sleeping face conspiratorial; 

“Tell your uncle, little Valeria, that he is very wrong and he ought to set you a better example.” 

Johnny gapes at him, about to say something petulant and mocking, when suddenly Valeria lets out a great burp. It is so loud, it startles the poor thing awake, and she looks at both Peter and Johnny with the most betrayed expression Johnny has ever seen on a baby. As if this is _their_ fault. Sure enough she wails — _loudly_ — and within moments Sue sweeps into the room. 

“Oh hush, you grumpy little lady.” She tutts to the baby as she takes her from Johnny’s arms. Before she parts from him, she drops a kiss to the top of both of their heads — like they are as young as Franklin — and just like that, she’s gone. 

Peter and Johnny are left sitting there a bit shocked, and frankly a bit startled. It’s Peter who breaks the silence first, saying through a gasp; “That burp was from a _child?!”_

Johnny holds his face and laughs so hard his chest begins to ache with it. Peter laughs beside him, bending over his own legs and swiping tears from his eyes. 

“She sounded like _you_.” Johnny says through another bout of hysterics. He snorts most hideously, and quickly claps his hands over his face again to conceal the blush that warms his cheeks. 

“Oh, now _that_ was darling.” Peter says mockingly. He grabs Johnny’s wrists suddenly, tugging them away from his face with little effort at all. 

“Do not mock me! Go back to mocking the baby! It was much more fun!” Johnny says, while still unable to contain his raucous laughter. “Do not look at me, I’m blotchy and snorting like a swine.” 

“I hate it when you cover your face while you’re laughing.” Peter says breathlessly. He holds Johnny’s wrists and they finally quiet — with much effort. Eventually Peter drops his wrists, and helpfully wipes a tear from Johnny’s cheekbone for him. Peter returns his left arm to the back of the couch, while his right hand drums a tune on his own thigh. Johnny watches him do so for a while. 

Finally, Johnny breaks the quiet and says, “As far as good intentions go, we were both right, I believe. At least… I know I truly only want what is best for Wyatt. You believe this, don’t you?” 

Peter sighs. He looks up at the ceiling for a moment. Johnny watches the long length of his throat. “I… Could never imagine you truly wishing ill on anyone, Johnny.”

Peter looks back down at his lap and sighs. He looks resigned as he says, “But you let your little games with people take precedence over what is important to them. What is important outside of _you_. I meant it when I said you are vain in ways not personal. You’re… Blind to your own vanity because it’s not vanity for the sake of ego but vanity for the sake of… Well self-preservation, I believe.” 

Johnny turns his head from Peter. He tugs on his own fingers, feeling rather hollow. Like a book that has been read, from cover to cover, and now just sits lifeless and still on a shelf. 

Peter takes one of his hands. Slips his fingers between Johnny’s. Johnny lets out a very long sigh - one he had not realized he’d been holding in. 

“I do believe Wyatt and Ms. Selleck could be very lovely together.” Johnny says. He turns his face back to Peter and smiles weakly. Peter has on that same vague, frozen smile as when he first entered, nods once. He is so close to Johnny, Johnny could probably count his eyelashes. His long, unfairly pretty eyelashes. 

“I can not believe how wrong you are, my dear.” His voice is gravely. As if there is something caught in his throat. For a moment Johnny can do nothing but stare at him. It feels like years pass before his mouth is not so dry, he may speak again;

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Parker. And I have never been proven wrong.” 

Peter raises an eyebrow and sits back. He takes his hand from Johnny’s, and Johnny suddenly craves the warmth. “Never?”

“Never.” Johnny confirms with a nod, rather than do something ridiculous like reach out and reclaim Peter’s large hand. 

“If I am not mistaken, didn’t you once think putting a hot iron to your head would flatten your hair’s springtime frizz—”

“Stop it—”

“—and, if I recall correctly—”

“You know this was a great trauma for me—”

“—you burned off a quarter of your own hair.”

“Well at least I _try_ to look decent. When is the last time you even bathed!” 

“Or what about that time you tried to use Sue’s old face powder to give yourself a more ‘porcelain’ complexion—”

Johnny gasps, and nearly shouts in outrage; “ _You_ replaced it with cooking flour, your _monster_ , how in the world is that _my_ fault!” 

Peter tosses his head back and laughs at the memory alone. Johnny narrows his eyes at him as the other man replies, “Oh it isn’t, I just love bringing that story up.” 

They all eventually file into carriages and take off for the Grimm home. Ben had insisted they ‘break in’ his dining room — whatever that means — and therefore was hosting a plethora of people from the village. 

Mr. Akihiro, on the other hand, would once again not be in attendance. Johnny was simply relieved that Ben had told him while they were alone in their carriage with Alicia, young Franklin, Johnny’s father, and _no_ Mr. Parker who would have undoubtedly made some snide remark. 

Once at Ben’s, Johnny was swept into easy conversation with Ms. Selleck and Ms. Raye. He was disappointed Wyatt had refused their invitation, and instead stayed home at the estate to celebrate with some of the other staff at Baxter estate. Johnny made sure to only tell stories of him to Ms. Selleck, less she forgot the man Johnny has practically betrothed her to. 

They sit around for dinner, and Ben makes an absurd toast that has them all laughing. Mr. Parker once again makes a point to clarify that he and Ben do _not_ celebrate Christmas, and that he is doing them all a grand favor by _appeasing_ them all in their reverie. Like they were all so lucky to have his attention, as if he was not the one who invited himself to their holidays to begin with. Johnny shook his head in exasperation, meeting Peter’s eyes from across the table as the older man raised a challenging eyebrow - a daring _and what?_ that had Johnny snickering into his hands. 

Halfway through the dinner, young Franklin finds a seat on Johnny’s lap to be far superior to the chair he had at the opposite end of the table. Johnny amuses the boy by bouncing his leg, causing the toddler to laugh and holler and try to stay still while being jostled about. 

“Look, Frank, who am I?” Mr. Parker says suddenly, putting a fork between his upper lip and nose. He makes a stern expression, and says in a gravelly voice; 

“Does anyone else feel the draft? I swear, I feel a draft from _that_ window!” As his impersonation of Johnny’s father. Johnny buries his face in Franklin’s soft blond hair to conceal his laughter. Franklin, unabidden by such etiquettes, cackles as loudly as Peter and Johnny had earlier in the parlor. “You’re papa!” He shouts. Even the elder Franklin, who is at the end of the table, quickly schools his amused grin into his usual stoicism. 

“Here, Mr. Parker, take my seat.” Ms. Raye suddenly says from Johnny’s right. “Little Franklin positively adores you, I insist.” She does not say so unkindly, and Peter does not hesitate to take up her proposal. Peter sits beside Johnny then, and him and Franklin engage in a long story about an old legend Peter had told him once. Something about a spider-person who can climb walls and spin webs and save damsels in distress. Johnny pretended to be affronted by the suggestion _he_ would be the victim in distress, but Mr. Parker was too wrapped up in his tale about this spider man’s heroics. 

Johnny spends the rest of supper, and even dessert afterwards, with his side pressed to Mr. Parker’s, and his nephew babbling merrily on his lap. It is, without question, one of the best Christmases he can remember. 

The night is dark and cold by the time they are all due to leave. Johnny is wrapped in a coat and shivering against the cold while everyone filters in to their own carriages. He is about to insist that him and Mr. Parker ride together (so they could share the bottle of eggnog Johnny is hiding under his scarf), but in a whirlwind of excitement and confusion, Johnny ends up in a carriage, alone, with Ms. Selleck. Apparently, she’s heading in the same direction as him, and apparently Ms. Raye can not take her in her own carriage anymore. 

Frankly, Johnny just wants to get out of the cold and away from his father’s frantic concerns about the weather and illness and death and what have you. He exchanges a beseeching glance with Mr. Parker who is climbing into a carriage with Mr. Storm. Mr. Parker shrugs, and Johnny does the same. 

There is just no way to be downtrodden on Christmas. 

Though, Ms. Selleck apparently missed this proclamation. 

They were not even a quarter into their trip when she reaches forward in some great flourish, and kisses him right on the lips. Johnny may have had a few too many glasses of eggnog, but he has certainly not had _that much_ . He pulls away with a gasp - his head knocking against the back of the carriage with a loud ‘ _thump_ ’. At the moment their carriage hits a bump and Sharon goes tumbling into Johnny, the two of them toppling over against the carriage’s bench. 

“Ms. Selleck?!” Johnny cries, “What in the _world_ are you doing—”

“I’m sorry, Johnny, but I suppose I was just so confident of your affections for me—”

“For _you?!_ ” He finally pulls himself together, and is sitting across from her once again. The blonde woman looks partially manic as she says, 

“Oh come now, Johnny. I see the way you look at me! And the way you whisper to your friend — the big one — whenever I’m in the room! I just wanted you to know I love you _too!_ ” 

Johnny can do hardly more but gape at her. “My… No! No, you… You and _Wyatt._ ” He says though a nervous laugh, “You are interested in my friend — the ‘big one’ — _Wyatt_. You two will make a darling couple—”

“Who is Wyatt?” She asks. 

“Oh my god—”

“Johnny, you are acting most unlike yourself. What is the matter—”

“The matter is I don’t love you, Sharon! I never have and never will!” He throws his arms out at his sides and looks at her as though she’s grown an extra head. “I simply do not understand where you ever got this notion!” 

Sharon looks scandalized, “I have fancied you for… Months! And _now_ you tell me you are uninterested—”

“I had no idea you fancied me!” 

“Is it because I’m a woman!” 

“No! No, I like women just fine—”

“Oh so it’s because it’s _me!_ ”

“Yes! Obviously, Sharon, it’s because it’s _you!”_ The shout is beyond his lips long before he can swallow them. The shock and affront on Sharon’s face makes Johnny's stomach roil. 

“Sharon that was… That was cruel—” 

Sharon suddenly pounds her fist against the door of the carriage and shouts to their coachman, “Let me out, please, I will walk from here!” 

“Sharon, no, it’s so _cold_ —” 

“I cannot stand the sight of you!” She screams — shrill and horrible. Johnny lurches at the sound, and apparently that also was not the proper thing to do, because she begins to cry. 

“No, I… I will walk. Please, I insist.” The carriage stops and Johnny opens the door. With his two feet on the snowy ground, he looks back at Sharon, “I truly did not mean to be so harsh to you, Ms. Selleck. I hope we can remain friends—” 

The door to the carriage slams in his face, and with that, they are off into the night. Leaving Johnny to walk the rest of the way home. Thankfully, he remembered to grab his stolen eggnog before leaving the carriage, so at least he has that. 

—

Wyatt took the news far better than Johnny was expecting. Afterall, him and Sharon would have been perfect together had she not been, perhaps, mad. When Johnny told the whole sordid tale to Wyatt, his friend looked hurt and concerned and asked to Johnny’s surprise; 

“Are you okay, Johnny? No one should just kiss you out of nowhere like that, I imagine that was rather… Distressing.” 

Johnny had not known what to say to that. He had shook his head, and tried to level with Wyatt the magnitude of this most grievous turn of circumstance. Ms. Selleck was no longer an option for him, and yet his soft-spoken friend had nothing more to say. 

“Perhaps he has no feelings.” Johnny muses while sitting on his favorite windosill. He looks out at the snowy fields, one leg dangling back and forth above the floor, and the other bent under his chin.

Sue hums from her spot in the window directly to his left. _Her_ favorite window. 

“I don’t believe that to be it, Johnny.” 

“How can you be _sure_ though?” 

“Well because he cares for you.” 

Johnny harrumphs. “That doesn’t count. He must care for me, he works here.” 

Sue sighs, long and slow and disappointed. She replies, “Johnny…” Whatever she meant to say next never comes. Snow begins to fall outside. 

“You know, there is always a space in our carriage for you.” Sue says after a while. It could have been hours, really. Johnny misses everything about his sister, and especially the moments when they could sit in companionable silence. Just existing with one another. 

“I know,” Johnnys says quietly, “but I cannot leave father.”

“You’re a better son than I am daughter.” 

“Do not say that.” Johnny says, firmly. “You are meant to be great, Sue. To travel the continent, and the world. You have a responsibility to those children, to give them the most wonderful experience of living-”

“And I have a responsibility to my baby brother, as well.” She interjects. Johnny is glad they are sitting in their separate windows, so she cannot see the tears that suddenly spring in his eyes. “I want you to be happy, Johnny. It has always been you and I, and my own happiness feels fraudulent and empty without the knowledge you are happy as well.” 

“I am happy.” He whispers. 

“Perhaps you are comfortable, but you are not happy. You can be — and you will be. I just wish you would occupy your mind with what is important, and not drift off into what is around you.”

Johnny scoffs, “You know I love this village. The people, and the culture. I even love this house, despite how quiet it can be. I find pleasure in absorbing myself in it all.”

“Pleasure, perhaps, but not happiness.” Sue sighs. They watch the snow until the sun sets. The next morning, Sue leaves. Johnny and Franklin Sr. stand at the entrance of their home, and watch their carriage wane into the distance. 

“You mustn’t leave me, Johnny.” Franklin says softly, once the carriage is entirely out of sight. Johnny places his arm around his father's shoulders and nods, 

“I won’t, father.” 

He thinks about Sue’s words then — about his happiness, and the way he absorbs himself in triviality. He is not sure what else to do, to be honest. All of his nearest friends have left, so what else is he to do but try not to dwell on the fact he is very unfulfilled and cannot figure out _why_. 

**_SPRING_ **

With the weather finally warm again, Johnny spends most of his days either laying out on the grass, or strolling to town. He decides early he’ll spend the day in town, catching up with friends and enjoying the sunshine. Johnny is trying to decide between two identical loaves of bread from the bakery, when Ms. Watson comes from behind him and nearly shouts, 

“Johnny! Oh good I found you!” 

Johnny stumbles forward from fright at the sudden presence, and turns rather clumsily. “Oh my, hello Ms. Watson-” 

“I have most incredible news!” The woman is practically shaking with glee. She grabs Johnny’s arms and even shakes _him_ a bit. He feels some of his particularly styled curls come out of place, and he bemoans for their intricate treatment. 

“And what would that—”

“My niece is in town! Can you believe it! She arrived this morning and just surprised me out of the blue!” She releases Johnny to clap eagerly. Even the baker at the back of the shop looks up and spares Johnny a pitying glance. 

“Well that’s lovely—”

“Oh you must come and have tea with us! Please, Johnny, I would love for you to meet her! You two will get along so fabulously!” 

Johnny quickly considers any excuse he can muster, though lying has never been a particular strong trait of his. He nearly says; _Ben has died, I must go_ , until he realizes that is preposterous, and morbid, and also he needs to become better at lying as soon as possible. Also, he must examine his own internal deliberations if his first instinct is to fictitiously kill off one of his dear friends in a hopeless effort to escape an appointment for tea—

By now the silence has gone on for far too long, and Johnny watches the old woman’s face begin to sour. He swallows and smiles his most charming grin before saying, “Of course, Ms. Watson. I’d love to.” 

Which is how his easy afternoon in town turns into a quite awkward lunch with Ms. Watson, Ms. Watson’s ancient mother, and the famed niece. Mary Jane’s hair is the brightest red Johnny has ever seen on someone, and striking eyes. She is certainly beautiful, and from Ms. Watson’s account, very knowledgeable and worldly (Johnny would love to learn this from Mary Jane herself, but her aunt is more apt to speak _over_ the girl and tell her stories for her. Every time this happens, Mary Jane shakes her head a bit — fondly, of course — and lets the woman continue speaking). 

Apparently Mary Jane has modelled for a number of expensive painters, performed on Shakespearean stages, and is fluent in four languages. She’s traveled the United States, has her own horse ranch in Scotland, and at this point Johnny wouldn’t be surprised if she’s also travelled to the moon as well. 

(Which he does not think bitterly, he promises himself. There is nothing to be bitter about, of course)

Johnny does not get a word in for the entire hour he is there. He smiles and nods, and exchanges quick glances with his peer. With little else to say, and desperately wanting to leave to catch the last few rays of the sun before nightfall, Johnny coughs loudly to interrupt another of Ms. Watson’s very _long_ stories from her childhood and says; 

“I would love to have you all at Baxter, for supper.” He nods eagerly to them all. Mary Jane smiles and seems genuinely pleased by the idea. Now that Johnny thinks about it, he’s quite sure he has not heard the woman speak once. He is about to inquire her preference for food, when Ms. Watson shouts, 

“Mother!” The much older woman across from them, who was sleeping soundly in her armchair, startles awake. “Mother did you hear! Johnny Storm invited us to Baxter for supper! How lovely, right! Mother! Mother are you listening!” 

Johnny looks over in time to see Mary Jane rubbing her temples while letting out a very long sigh through her nose. 

Johnny invites Ben and Alicia to dinner as well, if just to see his friend and his expecting wife. Johnny loves fawning over Alicia’s pregnancy, because the modest woman is so not used to such attention. She’s so pretty when she preens. Mr. Parker too, joins, because Mr. Parker has nothing else to do. At least that’s why Johnny assumes Mr. Parker is around so often. 

Wyatt also joins them. He always feels a bit awkward in gatherings such as these, with people of high society (such as Ms. Watson), but Johnny assures him Ms. Watson is no woman to fear, and despite Mary Jane’s intimidating beauty, she’s quiet and pleasant. 

Mr. Parker sits beside Mary Jane, and despite her earlier quietness, she speaks frequently with him. Johnny is happy to see her emerge from the overbearing shadow of her aunt, but feels a bit like a martyr himself considering this shadow has now befallen Johnny and Wyatt who are listening to story number _three_ from Ms. Watson. 

Ben has excused himself to use the restroom far more times than necessary, and Alicia is just looking down at her round stomach — as if trying to talk to her baby rather than cue herself into the conversation at the table. Mr. Storm, as usual, is silent and seemingly on another continent. 

Leave it to Johnny to be the face of politeness. Mary Jane laughs particularly loudly at something Mr. Parker says. She looks around the table, utterly unapologetic of the fact she is having a grand time with Mr. Parker, while Johnny listens to her aunt speak of some fungus growing on her mother’s foot. 

(Mr. Parker looks just as happy, which stirs something in Johnny’s chest. So not only is Mary Jane beautiful and a performer, and fluent in every language on the planet, but now she _also_ has monopolized Mr. Parker’s attention.)

After dinner, they congregate in the music room. As the host of the evening, Johnny busies himself on the piano. He’s always been a talented player unlike Sue who is hilariously tone deaf — and after a few numbers he takes a seat beside Wyatt who beams at him; 

“You may be the best piano player I have ever heard, Johnny.” 

Johnny turns to him and is about to thank him, when Mary Jane says suddenly, “I think I’ll play a bit, if you don’t mind.” 

Johnny’s gratitude falls flat on his tongue. He turns and watches as the beautiful Mary Jane sits behind the piano, with not a sheet of music in front of her, and begins to play. _Loudly_ . And _wonderfully_ . Johnny can do nothing but stare. He has never hosted a party in which one in his company felt the need to interject and perform for _his_ guests _for_ him. Was his playing so _bad_ for the worldly, intelligent, beautiful Mary Jane that she just _had_ to intervene? 

And did she _have_ to be so talented? 

Johnny is still staring at her, slightly agape, when Mr. Parker sits beside him. “I’m glad Mary Jane decided to play — _wow_. I have never heard Mozart played so—”

“I _hope_ I am not so often deficient in what is due my guests.” Johnny whispers in reply. Peter sits back, his eyes betraying his surprise. 

“You do not like Ms. Watson?” 

“No, I do not dislike her.” Johnny replies quickly. Because it is true. He does not dislike Mary Jane, he dislikes the fact being _around_ Mary Jane makes Johnny dislike himself. Mary Jane strikes another complicated chord and Johnny’s breath catches in his throat. “She is just so… Accomplished. And superior.” He says honestly. Afterall, he’s only been hearing about all the wonderful things this woman has done, how else is he to think of her? Especially now, when she is charming _his_ guests. 

“She is certainly accomplished,” Peter says thoughtfully. “Perhaps… The accomplished young person you wish to be thought of yourself.” 

Johnny’s heart breaks to hear his fears verbalized, and verbalized by Mr. Parker no less.

Johnny does not pardon himself; he stands and makes a hasty exit for the larger parlor. His father is sitting by the fire, with a number of butlers attending to him. Johnny walks past him, uncaring of how impolite it is to abandon his guests to their lonesome. (But then again, does it truly matter? When, according to Mr. Parker, Mary Jane is all the things he is not?) 

He is so ashamed of the fact he is crying. Though he cannot contain it. His emotions have always burnt as quick and uncontrollable as a brush fire. He is nearly by the green room when Mr. Parker catches up with him. 

“Johnny—”

“It is very rude of you to leave,” Johnny says sharply. He does not look at Mr. Parker just continues to walk in the hopes his rudeness will shoo Peter away. “I’ll be back in a moment, but you shouldn’t leave those guests there without a host, and since I just need a _moment_ you need to fill my place—”

“ _Johnny.”_ Peter snaps. He jogs ahead and plants himself in Johnny’s path. The latter groans and tries to turn, but Peter grabs his wrist. 

“Oh,” Peter says, though it sounds more like an exhale. “Oh, Johnny, please don’t cry—”

“Shut _up_.” Johnny hisses. He rubs his eyes with the backs of his hands and straightens his back. He glares at Peter, who looks terribly hurt. 

“Why would you say such cruel things?” Johnny asks, and regrets it instantly. He furrows his eyebrows and looks down, mortified to reveal the depth of Mr. Parker’s affect on him. 

“I didn’t…” Peter begins. He clears his throat, and drops his hand from Johnny’s, “I did not mean for it to… To imply you are _not_ accomplished—”

“I know what you meant.” Johnny says to his shoes. Defeated. “You do not have to contradict yourself. Nor do you have to treat me like I am eleven again.” 

“I _meant_ ,” Peter says pointedly. He bows his head and hunches himself over, forcing himself into Johnny’s line of sight. Johnny hates the fact he grins. There is just something so humorous about the tall gentleman twisting his body to meet Johnny’s eye as he keeps his face resolutely turned towards the ground. “That you wish to be regarded as Mary Jane is. You wish someone would speak of you the way her aunt does.” 

Johnny wipes his eyes again, and something in Peter’s expression breaks. Before he can speak, Johnny looks up and says, “You did not have to be so careless with your expressions. You know I feel very strongly about the way people perceive me, and…” _Sometimes it feels like that’s all I have. All I have is what they see, and what they think, because inside I am hopelessly clueless._

“I know, hot-head.” Peter says gently. He holds the sides of Johnny’s face, and uses his thumbs to wipe errant tears which still bud, despite Johnny’s great determination to stop them. “And I apologize for my loose tongue.” 

Johnny sighs and nods. He gently nuzzles his cheek into one of Peter’s palms. 

Peter swallows thickly, and his breath stutters audibly. 

Johnny says through a soft breath of his own, “I know. You’re an idiot.” 

“The most ardent idiot.” Peter’s voice is so gentle. His hands linger for a moment longer before they are back at his side. Johnny straightens his own jacket and begins to walk back towards the music room with Peter beside him. 

Before they enter the parlor again, Peter says, “I speak of you that way, you know.” 

Johnny turns to him with a curious frown. Peter continues, “The way Ms. Watson speaks of her niece. That is the way I speak of you. Though, I assure you, I do not mention any unfortunate fungus growths at any point… _Maybe_ I mention the fact you have a birthmark on your calf that looks like George Washington- _Ow_ ” Johnny pinches his arm, “It was _once_ , and I’m sorry, dear, but that birthmark is a feat of _God_ , I don’t understand why you aren’t more proud of it.” 

—

Wyatt and Johnny are in the village the day after Johnny’s dinner party. They’re in Robert Drake’s boutique where he is trying — and failing — to sell winter garments despite the fact summer is on the horizon, and he is the _only_ one in town so in love with the cold. 

“What of these?” Wyatt asks, pointing to a pair of loafers. Johnny joins his side and shrugs,

“A little too plain for me. You know I like at _least_ a semblance of flair.” 

Wyatt chuckles, but before he can reply the door to the boutique opens and Jennifer Walters enters. Her hair is pulled back in a bandana, her eyes tired, and her gait slow. Wyatt looks up, and Johnny hears the way his breath catches in his throat. 

Jennifer notices them instantly. Her own face betrays her shock, and just as quickly, her pain. She opens her mouth, as if she were about to say something, but quickly shuts it. Johnny feels rooted to his place beside Wyatt yet he so desperately wants to run from the store and all the way back home where he could forget that look of morose on Jennifer’s beautiful face. 

Jennifer stares at Wyatt for a moment longer before turning on her heel and walking quickly from the store. She had not lingered for more than a minute. Johnny has no clue what to say, but he is saved from any awkward words of comfort as Wyatt takes off after her like a man possessed by a spirit. Johnny drops the ascot he had been musing over (to Robert’s affront), and chases after his friend. 

By the time Johnny makes it outside, Wyatt is many paces ahead. He is walking towards home, and Johnny’s heart breaks to see him looking so lonely. 

He jogs after him, but before he reaches Wyatt he’s interrupted by a stranger on horseback. Johnny can hardly see him as he’s silhouetted by the midday sun. 

“Pardon,” The stranger asks in a husky voice, “I’m looking for the Grimm house. Am I in the right direction?” 

Johnny squints against the sun, and can just make out the man’s grin, “Yes it’s about a half a mile west of here—”

“Great.” The man says briskly, and takes off in the direction. Johnny watches him go, curious, until he remembers his purpose for running out of Robert’s and quickly makes to catch up with Wyatt. 

To Johnny’s utmost disappointment, Wyatt is nowhere to be found back at the estate. Johnny imagines he is on a walk, or sulking somewhere in the back fields. Johnny feels absolutely dreadful, and tries to distract himself from his broken heart by clipping plants in his greenhouse. He is about to abandon the task entirely — he’s never had much of a green thumb — when he’s interrupted by three unlikely guests. 

“Hey, kid!” Ben says eagerly from the threshold of the room. Johnny pokes his head over a lavender plant and smiles - already feeling sunny again at the sound of his friend’s voice.

“Ben! What a nice surprise!” He says. He comes out from around the table of plants and stops in his tracks. At Ben’s side is the stranger on horseback from earlier. In proper lighting, Johnny is entirely taken aback by how _handsome_ the gentleman is. He has raven hair, tan skin, and dark eyes. He looks at Johnny as if he recognizes him — which he must — and his smile is sharp. 

“Johnny,” Ben says, “This is my nephew, Daken. He rode in this morning and surprised me and ‘Licia. Isn’t this exciting.” Ben gives Johnny a pointed look. Johnny instantly straightens his shoulders and looks from Ben to the mysterious and _present_. Mr. Akihiro. 

“Pleasure to meet you, Johnny.” Daken says while extending a hand. Johnny shakes it and replies, 

“You as well, Mr. Akihiro.”

Daken doesn’t tell him to call him ‘Daken’, which strikes Johnny as a bit odd. He knows calling people by their title is something reserved for the heads of households - hence why he _loves_ irritating Mr. Parker with the formality despite the years Peter spent trying to get him to stop. And Johnny is rather sure Daken is not the head of his home, yet. Despite how ailing his father may be. 

“Anyways, we were all gonna take a trip into town and thought you’d like to join.” Ben says, clearly prompting. Johnny instantly nods, 

“Sure. Let me just change my shoes and I’ll meet you in the foyer.” 

Before Ben and Daken leave, Johnny notices the way Daken’s eyes linger on him. Johnny feels a rush of excitement up his spine, like a winter chill. 

Their walk to town is pleasant enough, with Ben and Alicia leading Johnny and Daken who walk a distance behind them. Johnny is picking apart a leaf he had plucked off a low hanging tree, and trying to come up with a conversation topic for Daken who is tragically far more handsome than he was really expecting. And even more intimidating than that. 

“Is your father feeling any better?” Johnny asks after a few moments of silence. Daken hums, 

“Fine.” 

Johnny frowns at his torn leaf, “Well he was sick rather recently, no? Are you quite sure—”

“I am.” Daken says sharply. Conclusive. Johnny keeps his head bowed and says no more, feeling rather small. 

Though the feeling passes quickly as Daken says around a warm laugh, “And what of you, Johnny? You have lived in Baxter your whole life?” 

Johnny brightens at the question. “Oh yes. My father’s father’s father built the home, and the Storm family has lived there since.” He says proudly. 

“It’s a nice home.” Daken says offhandedly. “Quite a small village though. You must know everyone here?” 

“I do.” Johnny says as they enter the village, “Though I must admit I see no issue with provincial life. It’s… Comforting. To have friends, and family nearby.” 

Daken hums thoughtfully, “I think I would go mad to be stuck with the same faces. Day in and day out.” Johnny does not know what to say to this, so he says nothing.

“Well,” Daken then says, “I suppose if the face was as pretty as yours, I could manage.” 

Johnny flushes and looks at the taller man and says, “Well, Mr. Akihiro, that is very kind of you to say.” 

They pass by the Crown Inn and Daken’s face brightens. “What a marvelous little establishment.” He says to the tall exterior, and double doors. “Oh you most have magnificent balls here.” 

Johnny snickers to himself — if just at Daken’s glowing analysis of the familiar spot. “Well, to be frank, Mr. Akihiro, we have not had a ball for a number of months—”

“Then we must have one soon!” He says, as though this is obvious. “I am only around for two weeks, and I do so love to dance.” He comes closer to Johnny. He takes his hand and slowly twirls him around, like in a classic set. Johnny raises an eyebrow at him, “If, of course, with the right partner.” 

“Did I hear a ball?” Alicia suddenly says, a few steps away. She turns and smiles warmly, “Oh that sounds _lovely_. Doesn’t it, Ben?” 

Ben, who probably hates little more in the world than balls, sighs and replies as though someone were asking him to pull out his own teeth; “Yes, my love.” 

“It’s settled then!” Daken says, clapping his hands together with finality. “Tomorrow eve, at dinner, we shall properly alert the townsfolk of the most momentous occasion. I’m sure everyone here could use a little excitement, yes, Johnny?” 

Johnny nods, “I can’t see the harm in some fun.” 

“And lucky me, I have the first two dances reserved for the most beautiful man in town.” Daken says to Johnny, who again blushes. Though, despite Daken’s charm and compliments Johnny cannot help but feel wary. Like there is something under the surface of his perfect complexion and beautiful eyes. 

Johnny thinks, for a horrifying moment, Daken is mocking him. But he brushes off the idea quickly, lest it begin to hurt him. 

—

“All I’m _saying_ is _Mr. Akihiro_ is here for only two weeks and he spent a whole day going to London to get a _haircut_. That’s 16 miles, twice over.” Mr. Parker is muttering as he and Johnny enter Ben’s home. Johnny tutts, 

“You wouldn’t understand, Mr. Parker, you haven’t gotten your hair professionally trimmed since your Aunt May re-married.” 

Peter scoffs, “I am perfectly capable of cutting my own hair.” 

“A mirror would beg to differ.” 

“I just think he’s trifling.” Peter says, ignoring Jonny’s insult, “A trifling, silly, fop.” 

Johnny does not voice his surprise at Peter’s harsh words, and he cannot help but note how similar they sound to Johnny’s own sentiments about Mary Jane.

“Well isn’t someone feeling most generous tonight.” Johnny turns to him. “Hold your tongue, Mr. Parker, because who knows, this man just may be my husband some day.” 

Peter scoffs, “If your future husband cannot tolerate my complaining then I will have to ask you to leave him.” 

“So demanding in your old age.” Johnny mutters under his breath, and Peter laughs. 

They are making their way through the foyer when they spot Daken. He is standing at the threshold of the parlor, and looking at both Johnny and Mr. Parker with an air of importance. Johnny would swear he sees Mr. Parker straighten his posture even more so at the sight of the other gentleman. Johnny very narrowly avoids snickering. 

“Hello, Mr. Akihiro.” Johnny says in greeting. Daken nods, and looks Johnny up and down rather slowly. 

“Johnny. You look fantastic, as usual.” He says with an almost sly expression. Johnny blushes, smiles, and walks into the dining room to say hello to Ben and Alicia. Behind him Mr. Parker grumbles an introduction, like the grumpy old-man trapped in a young man’s body he is. 

Johnny takes note that Ms. Selleck is _still_ not back from her holiday in London. He heard from Ms. Raye that she had struck up a relationship with someone there, and frankly Johnny was both relieved and guilty. Perhaps she is very happy with her new relationship — God knows she would have never been happy with Johnny. 

Mary Jane is also present, and she drifts around the room with easy poise. She gravitates towards Mr. Parker instantly, who still seems rather perturbed by his two second conversion with Daken. 

Mr. Parker and Mary Jane strike up a quick conversation — their heads bent towards one another, and their smiles full and real. Johnny watches them for a moment, curious. 

“Oh, Johnny, there you are.” Alicia says at his side. She slips her arm into the crook of his elbow, and Johnny is about to ask how she knew it was him when she says; “You always smell so distinctly of lavender.” Johnny does not know why, but this makes him blush. 

“I wanted to speak to you,” She says, “I have taken a ‘page from your book’ as they say, and decided to try my hand at match-making.” 

Johnny laughs — holding his tongue when he wants to ward her against such endeavors considering his previous disasters. “Oh have you now?” He says instead. 

“Mhm.” The woman nods, “Tell me, are Mary Jane and Mr. Parker speaking with one another? I thought I heard her say she was going to greet him.” 

Johnny replies, “Well yes, actually—”

“Oh splendid.” Alicia says with a smile, “You see I believe I have made a darling match between the two. The other day there was a _pianoforte_ sent to Ms. Watson’s home by _someone_ — an anonymous sender, you see.” Alicia raises her eyebrows. “ _And_ Mr. Parker has promised to lend Mary Jane his carriage for the ball tomorrow evening, as a courtesy since she has none. He said he will _walk_ himself. How gallant is that!” Alicia laughs merrily. As if this is all so wonderful and pleasant. 

Which it is. For Mr. Parker, and for Mary Jane. Johnny can’t seem to swallow - his mouth unbearably dry. 

“That is… A lovely pairing.” Johnny says in reply. He gently removes his arm from Alicia’s hand and says, “I must get some water, pardon me.” He presses a kiss to her cheek and walks off quickly. 

Dinner goes by in a blur. Daken does not speak to him once — to enraptured by his conversation with Ben about his father, and their estate. Johnny did not look up from his plate much, considering across from him was Mr. Parker and Mary Jane, who were so wrapped up in each other's company Johnny would not have been noticed anyways. 

After dinner, he left early — claiming a stomach ache. Neither Mr. Parker, nor Mr Akihiro walked him out. 

He sat in his room that night — his hair in curlers while he leaned against the foot of his bed. He scratched patterns into his wood floor for most of the night. Just staring. Thinking nothing. Feeling alone. 

He just wishes he knew _why_. 

—

Johnny and Mr. Storm walk into the ballroom together. The Crown Inn has been transformed into quite a spectacle. Lining the walls were two long tables, and atop them a whole assortment of fine foods and wines. Between them is the dancefloor, and heading that a rather large band. Leave it to this town, if nothing else, to know how to throw a ball. Johnny is enthralled by the majesty of it all - the hanging chandeliers, everyone milling about in their finest outfits, and the upbeat melody of a symphony. 

Even Ben looks to be enjoying himself from across the room. Alicia is pressed to his side while the two converse with Wyatt who has his hair styled, and his clothing pressed. Johnny feels a swell of pride at the sight of his friend — so uncomfortable in situations like these — fitting in like a hand to a glove. 

“Johnny, you look darling!” Gwen Stacy, one of Mr. Parker’s tenants, says to his right. He turns to see the bright eyed woman who looks rather incredible herself. He gives her a quick hug and replies, 

“As do you, Ms. Stacy. Tell me, how is the family?” 

They chat for only a bit, before Johnny is summoned by another friend to have a conversation of similar depth. Johnny eventually drifts to Robert Drake who is in conversation with Mr. Akihiro — the latter gentleman sees Johnny and his face splits into that intimidating smile again. 

“Well, now that you’re here, shall we begin the dancing?” Daken says — plainly interrupting something Robert had been saying. Johnny bites his lip to refrain from laughing at Robert’s affronted expression. 

The band begins to play, and the set begins on the dance floor. Daken looks at Johnny not unkindly, but again Johnny is struck by the peculiar _something_ hiding under his expression. 

“You were much missed after you left last night.” Mr. Akihiro says as they dance. Johnny continues the routine with practiced ease - remembering the late nights he and Sue spent rehearsing these exact sets and laughing madly at each other's trying attempts. 

“Was I?” Johnny replied coyly. Daken laughs a bit to himself. He replies, “Sure.” As though he did not mean so at all. Johnny, once again, is curious if the man is mocking him. 

Again, he puts the thought far from his mind. 

On a turn, Johnny catches sight of Jennifer Walters. She sits by her lonesome, in a chair in the corner. She is staring sightlessly at the dance floor, with her folded hands twitching on her lap. Johnny's heart breaks. 

Suddenly, Mr. Parker is at her side. He bends down and whispers something in her ear which causes the woman to laugh. Johnny does not see the rest, but suddenly Mr. Parker is dancing with Ms. Walters at the far end of the dance floor. Johnny, knowing it is rude to turn from his dance partner, can not stop looking at Mr. Parker and Ms. Walters. 

Ms. Walters does not look _happy_ per-say, but she looks grateful. Mr. Parker is making some sort of face, and speaking undoubtedly of his terrible dancing abilities. Ms. Walters snickers, and when she thinks he is not looking, quickly wipes her eyes. Mr. Parker, ever observant, notices and pretends to trip to the left. The man whom he fell into looks astonished the _gentleman_ Mr. Parker is so clumsy, and Ms. Walters has to clap a hand over her mouth to contain her laughter. Mr. Parker looks utterly accomplished. 

“Johnny?” Daken is asking, as though this were not the first time. Johnny looks back at him. His handsome, chiseled face, and mysterious eyes. Daken Akihiro, of high birth and status. Handsome (in that kind of way Johnny would like), and clever. Johnny is struck by how little he feels for the man. Struck so plainly, it makes him feel like a fool. 

It makes him feel absurd for spending all those months pining over a man he had never even met. 

The dance ends, and before Daken can suggest another, Johnny slips away from the crowd and quickly grabs a glass of wine from the dining tables. 

He hides himself in one of the thresholds leading to the kitchens. He has a better view of everyone from here — of Daken who speaks far too closely with Mary Jane ( _figures_ , Johnny tuts to himself), and Dr. Banner who converses with Ben. Johnny thinks himself alone until Mr. Parker joins his side, leaning against the opposite side of the archway. 

They stand in amiable silence for a while. Johnny eventually sighs and turns to Peter. He leans his back against his side of the threshold to get a better look at him, and Mr. Parker turns to him with an open smile. 

“Thank you. For your kindness to Jennifer.” He says. Peter shrugs, and looks a bit exasperated. 

“No need to thank me for dancing with a lovely woman who has no right to be so sad on such an…” Peter gesticulates in the vague direction of the dancefloor, “Occasion?” He quirks his head. Johnny laughs. 

“God, you sound like Ben. Are you so averse to _fun_?” 

Peter makes a face at him, and Johnny laughs into his glass. Suddenly, Alicia is walking past them with Ben on her arm. 

“Here they are honey-”

“Johnny!” She says accusingly, “You must set an example! We must dance another set.” To the room at large, she says louder, “Set an _example_ for your lazy companions! Please it’s the Sussex Waltz, my favorite!” 

Robert Drake groans, loudly. As does his friend Katherine. Though their general begrudging does not keep them from following the orders of Alicia Masters. 

Alicia leaves them with a bright smile - one that even Ben can not refuse - and Johnny sighs. 

“Well,” Peter says. He faces Johnny now, “Who shall you dance with, your majesty?” 

Johnny scoffs and crosses his arm over his chest, looking out at the crowd. He does not want to dance with Daken again. He just… Doesn’t. 

It strikes him like lightning: “With you.” He says, turning to Mr. Parker who looks just as surprised as Johnny feels. “If you will ask me. You have already shown you can dance, and if _Ben_ is dancing you certainly have no excuse.” 

Mr. Parker opens his mouth, and then closes it again. He looks at Johnny distantly, and that expression is back. The one from Christmas, and his dinner party with Ms. Watson. Johnny is about to try to laugh off the whole proposal, not wanting to make Peter uncomfortable, when Peter seems to snap out of his strange enhancement and says, 

“Well, alright.”

They make their way to the dance floor, facing one another and lined up with their peers. Johnny sticks his tongue out at Peter, for no reason other than to be silly. Peter replies in turn by crossing his eyes at him. 

The music begins and the waltz is a slow one. Peter takes Johnny’s left hand and they move one step towards one another, and one step out. Each time they get close, Peter whispers ‘ _my foot!_ ’ as if Johnny had stepped on it which he did not do once. Every time they step away Johnny levels him with the most unamused expression he could muster. 

Peter turns Johnny, and then they must take the hands of the person diagonal them and twirl them. Johnny takes Daken’s hand and his expression does not change once. Peter takes Mary Jane’s and they both exchange pleasant grins. Johnny then has to turn with Ben who _tries_ to clobber on Johnny’s feet because of _course_ he would. When Johnny returns to Peter, Peter is struggling to stifle his laughter — having clearly noticed the challenge Ben was giving Johnny. 

Then it’s just them again. They walk the length of the dance floor, like the others. Peter looking both unamused and fond — somehow at the same time. Then they’re facing each other, and this time when they step in, their bent arms are meant to interlock with one another. Their hands just centimeters apart but not touching. 

They do this, then Peter turns him again, and then repeat. 

Though this time, something changes. When Peter steps in, his fingertips touch Johnny’s, and they linger before they step apart. Johnny can't look away from Peter’s eyes. They’re hazel — not just a simple brown as he once thought — and his pupils are so wide. His mouth is slightly parted, his eyebrows furrowed, and he’s beautiful. So, unmistakably, beautiful.

The next required step is that Peter take both of Johnny’s hands and they step in to one another, and then away. Peter’s hands grip his fingers tightly. Too tightly. When they step together Peter’s breath comes out in some broken shudder. 

Johnny rises to his toes a bit. Peter is only a bit taller than him, but Johnny feels the need to be closer. To get as close as he can. To see what else is there, in his hazel eyes. 

Johnny doesn’t realize how long they’ve held this position — Johnny barely on his toes, his chest against Peter’s, and Peter gripping his hands too tightly between them — until the rest of the line moves on to the next set and they break apart clumsily. Johnny lets out a breath he had not realized he’d been holding, and Peter too looks off kilter. 

When they join again, Peter takes his hand — gentler this time — and when they step in, he does not meet Johnny’s eyes. His strong jaw is clenched, and his eyes are firmly on the ground to the right of Johnny. They hardly come together as closely as they did prior. Johnny feels like he did many summers ago, when he swam too deeply into Dorchester lake. He had kicked and sputtered and was certain he was drowning. 

(Ironically, it was Mr. Parker who had dove into the water, took him by the waist, and pulled him to safety.) 

Peter places his hand on Johnny’s waist, and standing behind him, walks them both in a slow turn. Johnny’s hand lays lightly on top of his, and by the time they are back in their stationary positions, the dance is over. Everyone breaks apart, smiling and satisfied. 

Peter’s hand begins to slip off Johnny’s waist and Johnny’s hand lurches. 

When Johnny was at Dorchester lake, Sue had already been gone. He remembers, while he was struggling for air, being certain if she was around she would have told him not to swim so far out. Ben, too, was not present. 

Mr. Parker had jumped into the water, still fully clothed, because he had decided at the last moment to join Johnny. Johnny had thanked heaven's Peter had arrived when he had, or else Johnny would long be passed. 

Johnny grabs Peter’s fingertips. Peter behind him gasps. 

Johnny bemoans Sue’s departure, he blames Ben for his abandonment, and he does everything in his power to keep Wyatt around — even at the detriment of Wyatt himself. 

But Peter has always been there. He’s always been there to make Johnny’s home feel more occupied. He has been there to make him laugh. He has been there to wipe away his silly tears. He has been there in Johnny’s thoughts, and his dreams, and his happiness. 

He holds Peter’s fingers, and then he lets them go quickly, realizing how ridiculous he must look clutching on to his _best_ friend’s hand due to some desperate ache for the feel of his touch. To feel like he is held and he is safe with someone who knows him like the sky knows the sun. 

When Johnny turns Peter is looking at him so imploringly. Not accusatory, but desperately. He looks like he’s drowning. 

“Wonderful!” Alicia cries happily. At the sound of her voice, Johnny shakes his head, and turns from Peter with little else to really do. Peter walks away as well, and the moment is gone. Johnny frankly can not look at anyone else at the moment, so he asks his father if he is ready to leave. It is nearly sunrise now, so he does not feel improper for doing so. 

Peter walks them out, silently. He helps both Johnny and Mr. Storm into their carriage and watches them ride off towards Baxter. 

Johnny doesn’t look back once on his trip home. When he mounts the steps of his house, he leaves his shoes in the foyer, unbuttons his dress coat, and sits at his favorite windosill. 

(If he had looked back, though, he would have seen Mr. Parker pacing outside of the Crown Inn in the dusty wake of Johnny’s carriage. His hands buried in his brown hair, and his face turned downwards as he breathed in and out slowly. 

If Johnny had looked back, he would’ve seen the sudden frantic glint in Peter’s eye as he turned back in the direction Johnny had just left. Remembering he had lent his carriage to Mary Jane, he takes off like a man possessed. Sprinting through the slowly lightening streets of town, his pants getting dustier, and his shoes digging into his feet. Breathless, utterly harried, and desperate. 

Peter Parker, one of the wealthiest gentlemen in town, races down a dirt road with the sun lighting up the sky to his left, reflecting off untrimmed fields of wheat and grass. He runs, hops the waist-high fence which encloses the Baxter estate, and splashes through dew covered grass. He looks up and sees a familiar figure sitting in a familiar window.)

Johnny sees Peter then. He had just sat at his window when he saw a lanky figure hop his fence and slow to a jog at the entrance of his home. Mr. Parker is looking up directly at him — flushed, and breathless — with a sort of steely determination. 

Johnny’s heart begins to race — in the same way it had earlier, when Peter gripped his fingers too tightly — and his legs move before he can really think of where they are taking him. He races down the steps. A part of him feels laughable. He’s barefoot, his coat and vest long gone leaving him in just an unbuttoned empire shirt, and his hair fallen flat against his forehead. He would never consider leaving the house in such a state. But he does anyway. He throws open his front doors and hardly even feels the gravel on his feet when he meets Peter in the entrance of his home. 

Him and Pater are a few steps apart, and Johnny can do nothing but stare at him. Johnny’s mouth agape, and a smile very slowly coming to his lips. Peter, still breathless, has his hands on his hips while he stares back at him. Johnny feels his chest constrict in nervous glee. 

Peter opens his mouth to speak when suddenly Wyatt shouts from behind him, “Oh hello, Mr. Parker!” He says cheerily, “Pleasure to see you. Johnny.” Wyatt greets as he walks towards them. He stops at their side, 

“Oh Johnny, Mr. Akihiro was positively glowing all night, wouldn’t you agree? I truly believe a proposal is only days away!” Wyatt says excitedly. 

Johnny blinks at him slowly. Trying to remember what was even happening in the world outside of him and Mr. Parker. “Oh…” He says slowly. He looks up at Wyatt and nods, “That’s… Yes, that’s wonderful.” 

“Wonderful?” Mr. Parker snaps. Johnny feels like he was just slapped. When he turns to Peter, the man is looking down at his feet. His eyebrows furrowed, and his hand gripping the back of his neck while he slowly nods. 

“Well—” Johnny begins to say, but Peter raises his free hand to quiet him. 

“I should go. It was nice to see you, Wyatt.” His voice is rough and quiet, and Johnny aches when he turns and begins to leave. Every bone in his body wants to chase after him the way Peter so often does whenever Johnny gets into a particular spirit. 

Johnny doesn’t move though. Wyatt is continuing to speak to him about Daken, and Mary Jane, and Francis, and Johnny feels so hopeless he can do nothing more but nod.

(Peter walks back to his estate slowly. Halfway there, he tears off his dress coat and leaves it abandoned on the side of the road, uncaring. He unties the stupid ascot from around his neck, and unbottoms both his sleeves and his collar. When he makes it to his front gates he collapses to the ground, his head in his hands. He kicks off his shoes, and lays on the grass. He doesn’t move until one of the chickens from the Thompson's farm begins to peck at his trousers. Eugene has always been so terrible at keeping those stupid birds in their coop.) 

—

A few days later, Robert hosts an afternoon of bridge at his home. Johnny hasn’t spoken to Mr. Parker nor Mr. Akihiro since the ball, and walking into Robert Drake’s and seeing Mr. Parker at a bridge table made his heart stutter in his chest. 

There was no _reason_ he should feel delicate around Mr. Parker, so he walks right over to his table and sits in the empty seat beside him. Mr. Parker looks up at him and they exchange a small grin, and it feels like a reconciliation. An easy transition from _whatever_ happened a few nights prior, to the friendship that they would always have. 

They will always be friends. Johnny may be vain, and he may not fully grasp the feelings he has towards Mr. Parker, but Peter has never left Johnny, so Johnny will never leave him. 

“Oh Johnny, it’s a pleasure to have you!” Elizabeth Allen coos. “We were just discussing Mr. Parker’s estate. It’s like something from a fairytale, is it not?” 

Johnny takes the cards which are dealt to him, and tutts, “I’m afraid Mr. Parker’s concerns are all for his tenants and none for his house. His ballroom and picture galleries have been all shut up.” 

“Well I would love to see it.” Mary Jane says from across him. She looks inquiringly at both Johnny and Peter, “I’m sure Mr. Akihiro as well, considering he will only be around for about five more nights.” 

The _unless_ goes without having to be said. Johnny looks down at his cards more intently. 

“Oh this sounds delightful!” Francis Raye says, “Mr. Parker I would be happy to arrange an invitation list for guests.”

“That won’t be necessary, Ms. Raye.” Peter says quickly. He softens his harsh interjection with one of his easy grins. 

“Oh but I insist.” Ms. Raye continues, “I assure you I am capable.” 

“Pardon, Ms. Raye,” Peter says, firmer, “But there will only be one other person, aside myself and my Aunt, I shall allow to invite guests to the Parker estate, and that will be the future Mr. Parker… Or Mrs.” He looks at his cards while he clears his throat gently. 

Johnny bites his bottom lip very hard. So hard he worries he may start to bleed. Imagining another Parker causing his stomach to curl into dissatisfied knots. 

Later that evening, they all join Mr. Parker at his estate. It truly is a magnificent home, and one that Johnny has only seen on a handful of occasions. It strikes him, sometimes, how lonely Peter’s home is. He has a very limited staff to attend to him, and his aunt lives in a separate house on the property. It is even draftier than Johnny’s house. 

The gallery room has high ceilings, and the art is of an old style. Johnny drifts around the room with Wyatt. 

Wyatt comments on all the art — being a talented artist himself — about the style, the color composition, and the symbolic representation of even the slightest details. Then there is Johnny who points at angels painted naked and giggles. 

At the other side of the room, Mr. Parker is pointing at a larger painting, and speaking with his head bowed towards Mary Jane. The latter is not looking at the art, but him. Her smile is fond and gentle. Johnny can not take his eyes off of them, despite the fact Wyatt is speaking to him about the merits of one artist against another. Johnny’s mind feels occupied by crickets, or summer cicadas. 

Peter then drops his hand and places it on the small of Mary Jane’s back. He nods in the direction of a corridor leading to his balcony and Mary Jone nods. The two walk off with Peter gently guiding her. 

“Johnny?” Wyatt asks gently, his hand on Johnny’s shoulder, “Are you alright? You look a bit pale—”

“Johnny!” Says another, far less gentle voice, from behind him. Mr. Akihiro throws a muscular arm across his shoulder blades. Johnny sighs and tries to feel comforted by the gesture. 

“Hello, Mr. Akihiro.” 

“Walk with me, yes?” He asks, and Johnny agrees. He parts from Wyatt despite his friends’ concerned frown, and walks arm and arm with Wyatt through the estate's outermost corridors. 

The walls are lined with tall, clear windows, showing off the rolling plains of springtime greenery. If one was to squint, they could make out the outline of the Stacy farm. 

The first time Johnny came here, Peter was 14 and Johnny 12. Johnny had challenged him to a race, and they had spent hours racing up and down these hallways. Peter had declared Johnny a cheater everytime Peter lost, and Johnny threatened to cry everytime _he_ lost. During their last race, Johnny had fallen poorly and hurt his ankle. When he began to cry Peter had been at a loss for what to do, so sat on the ground beside Johnny and hugged him to his chest. At the time, Johnny remembers wondering how ever that was supposed to help, but he had not complained. He had eventually stopped crying, and allowed Peter to carry him on his back all the way to the Baxter estate. 

“So I hear Francis Raye has arranged a trip to Box Hill for a picnic tomorrow,” Daken says, pulling Johnny from his memories of childhood. “I assume you will join?” 

Johnny nods, “Of course. Box Hill has a lovely view of lake Dorchester. I look forward to it.” He turns to Daken and smiles. He can imagine Mary Jane and Mr. Parker doing as they are now. Perhaps laughing more, due to Mr. Parker’s talent for rambling. Perhaps they are talking about life on the estate, and the responsibilities required for a Mrs. Parker. 

Johnny tightens his grip on Mr. Akihiro’s arm, but the other man seems not to notice. Johnny wonders if Mary Jane notices how large Peter’s hand is when it rests on her back. Or if she notices how warm it is. Johnny remembers that hand holding his cheek, wiping his tears, and he once again grips Mr. Akihiro’s arm a bit too tightly. 

Perhaps Mr. Akihiro will propose to him. Perhaps they will be married, and they will be happy. The only reservation Johnny will have is the hope that Mr. Akihiro will always tolerate Mr. Parker’s complaints.

—

Box Hill is just as beautiful as Johnny remembers. Around the blanket Francis laid out is Ben, Alicia, Mr. Parker, Mary Jane, Ms. Watson, and Mr. Akihiro. The air is balmy, and the sun is shrouded by the perfect amount of clouds. Johnny is beside Mr. Akihiro who is lounged on his back, his long legs bent, and his face turned towards the sky. It is impossible to forget that Daken is so lovely. 

Everyone chats of unimportant things like the weather and the latest gossip. Eventually Francis Raye, and Julie D’Angelo join, and they fawn over Johnny’s newest blouse for a while before being swept into another conversation with Ben and Alicia. 

From beside him, Daken sighs loudly. Curious, Johnny crosses his legs and leans over to conspire with the gentleman. Mr. Akihiro opens one of his eyes and lifts an eyebrow before whispering to him, “Our companions are rather dull. What shall we do to rouse them?” 

Johnny rests his elbow on his knee, supporting his chin with his hand, and shrugs. Daken wiggles his eyebrows at him and then sits up. “Ladies and gentleman,” He pronounces in faux revelry. Johnny giggles — if more so out of surprise than amusement. “The lovely Mr. Storm has just informed me that he desires to know what you are all thinking of.”

Johnny scoffs, and the rest of the party laughs in amused surprise. Ben mutters something to Alicia who replies in turn by smacking his shoulder, and tries to compose her hearty laughter. 

“Is Mr. Storm _sure_ he would like to know what we are all thinking?” Mr. Parker hums in thought. His eyes are narrowed in that way Johnny knows is mocking. 

Johnny deadpans, “No, I would not subject myself to whatever goes on in your mind, Mr. Parker—”

“Because I was thinking about this clever fellow named Lamarck-”

“Oh please, Lord, not this again—”

“And his very interesting idea about biological evolution—”

“Mr. Parker, I will fall asleep—”

“Or shall I talk about Hippocrates’ theory of the humours—”

“New idea!” Daken shouts. Johnny is staring at Peter who has that troublesome smirk on his face as he looks to Mr. Akihiro. Something triumphant in his expression. 

“Ladies and gentlemen I am now _ordered_ by Mr. Storm to say that he waives his right of knowing what you may be thinking, and only requires something entertaining from each of you.” Daken turns to Johnny with an expectant grin, and Johnny shrugs. Willing to play along with the man’s games. 

“He requires either… one thing very clever, two things moderately clever, or three things very dull indeed.” Daken counts off his fingers. Everyone again chuckles, and Johnny turns to look at everyone with the same playful expectancy. 

Mary Jane leans in to Peter and whispers something in his ear. The man throws his head back and laughs so loudly, half of their party turns to him in question. 

Composing himself Peter notices the amount of people looking at him and says, slightly embarrassed, “Apologies it was… Well… Mary Jane how would we even retell such a tale?” 

Mary Jane shrugs, and looks to the crowd, “I suppose it was one of those jokes one had to be there to witness. A retelling would do it no justice. 

Peter nods and leans over to gently bump her shoulder. She begins to laugh again. Johnny watches and suddenly, he cannot breathe. 

“Well that should be simple!” The loud Ms. Watson says, “Three things very dull indeed, that will do just for me. I will be sure to say three dull things as soon as I open my mouth.” 

Everyone laughs. Knowing Ms. Watson, especially, makes the joke all the more humorous. 

“Oh, but that will be the difficulty,” Johnny says, hardly laughing at all, and not even looking in the older woman’s direction, “When have you ever stopped at three?” 

It takes him a moment to realize it was _him_ who said this. It was Johnny Storm, the pride of Baxter estate. Kind, beautiful, clever Johnny Storm who is beloved by all. The entire picnic is quiet, besides Daken who lets out a low, surprised huff. 

It feels like ages before Ben cracks some joke, which has the whole party coming back to normalcy. Johnny keeps his eyes firmly glued to the picnic blanket, too cowardly to look up. He can’t imagine Mr. Watson’s expression, and he is so ashamed he burns over it. 

Ms. Watson decides to take a stroll with Ms. Raye, and Johnny still does not even look her in the eye.

Sooner rather than later, he excuses himself from the group. No one makes to follow him, and for that he is relieved. 

He sits in his carriage and stares out at Lake Dorchester. Remembering the day he almost drowned. His coachman eventually returns to bring him home, but before they could leave Mr. Parker storms up the carriage. 

“How could you be so unfeeling to Ms. Watson?” Peter snaps. He sounds thunderous, and when Johnny finally has the courage to look at him, his face is just as furious.

“It was not so very bad.” Johnny whispers while once again averting his eyes to his lap. 

“I assure you she knows you were not merely playfully _teasing_ Johnny—”

“Okay you must admit what is good and what is ridiculous, is so unfortunately blended in her—”

“They are blended, I acknowledge, and if she was a woman of more wealth or worse attitude I would not be quarreling with you over this. But she is _poor_ , and she has _watched you_ grow up into both your beauty and wealth, as she has grown _poorer_ from that time—”

“I don’t need to hear this—” Johnny waves him off. Tries to, at least, but Peter wouldn’t listen to such dismissals. Especially not when he is feeling righteous. 

“And _now_ ! To have you in thoughtless spirits _laugh_ at her before her niece, and a company of people who look to you for guidance!” 

Johnny shakes his head, still not looking at him. Peter lets out a groan similar to a growl and practically shouts; “ _Look_ at me, Johnny!” 

So he does. With tears budding dangerously close to his eyelids, Johnny looks at him. Peter is still furious. Flushed, and heart-wrenchingly disappointed. “You are so much better than what that was. You were _cruel_ . And you are _never_ cruel.” 

Johnny stares at him for a moment longer before turning forward to his coachman and saying sternly: “Go.” 

As he’s driving off, Johnny bows his head and sobs into his trembling hands. He was feeling bitter about Mr. Parker and Mary Jane, so he let his tongue lash out at a woman who holds Mary Jane in the highest regard. 

This is just what Johnny Storm does, is it not? His world must be built the way _he_ wishes, or else he is bitter. He forces Wyatt and Jennifer apart, and he breaks poor Ms. Waton’s heart. He hurts people with his own vanity, and how can he ever be a person who deserves Mr. Parker if he is so cruel? 

He presses his fists to his eyes and cries harder. He pulls his legs against his chest, and buries his face in his knees. Like a crack of thunder, it comes to him quickly and tumultuous. He is in love with Mr. Parker. He loves him so irrevocably, that his chest aches with it. It is easier to absorb himself in mindless gossip and matchmaking, and the silly fantasies of men he does not know, rather than acknowledge the fact he’s in love with one of the only real friends he has. 

So, in short, Sue was right. As she always is. 

But Mary Jane Watson loves Mr. Parker, and Mr. Parker probably loves her too. Johnny will not stand in the way of another one of his friends’ happiness. He so loves Mr. Parker, that he will spend the rest of his life making sure Mr. Parker is as happy as he has made Johnny. And he will do so _kindly_. 

When the carriage pulls up to Baxter, Johnny stays there for a while to cry. It takes him the better part of an hour to feel well enough to stand. 

—

He visits Ms. Watson’s home the next day. He brings a basket of fruit. The older woman answers the door and looks so nervous Johnny’s heart breaks all over again. 

“I brought you this from my garden.” He says weakly. He passes her the basket. From over her shoulder, he sees a flash of red hair. Johnny takes a deep breath and meets Ms. Watson’s eyes, 

“I must apologize for my words yesterday, Ms. Watson. I do not know what came over me to say anything so viscous, and so unbecoming of myself.” He swallows. “I would love to hear as many things as you want to say. I’ve known you as long as I’ve been alive, and…” _Be_ _honest,_ he thinks to himself. The only way he can start figuring himself out, and the happiness that Sue promised him, is if he is at least honest with both himself and others.

“The last thing my mother or my sister would ever want of me is to be disrespectful. And I was. And I am so incredibly sorry.”

The older woman looks down at the basket Johnny had given her. They are quiet for so long, Johnny worries he has not been forgiven. Or that he is overstaying his tentative welcome. 

Then suddenly, Ms. Watson chuckles. She presses her free hand to her lips to stifle her laughter and says, “Well, Johnny, I do believe _love_ is a strong word when I am talking about my mother’s medical ailments.” 

Johnny is so surprised by the admission he begins to laugh as well. “Well… Ms. Watson, if it would make you feel better, I would love to tell you of some horrible wart my father has grown on his neck—”

“ _Johnny._ ” She barks out a laugh, and so does Johnny. 

He leaves a few moments later after she thanks him for the basket with a gentle smile. He feels good — almost like he’s setting things right again. All that is left is to rectify Wyatt and Jennifer’s relationship, and be Mr. Parker’s friend even when Mr. Parker marries Mary Jane. 

—

It’s a week after Box Hill that Ben and Alicia summon Johnny by way of telegram. Alicia is too pregnant to walk long distances now, and Ben refuses to leave her side. Johnny, who has not seen them since the disastrous picnic, is eager to see them both. 

Though when he arrives, the mood is heavy. The melancholy in the air is palpable, and for one horrible moment Johnny worries Alicia has fallen ill. 

But when Johnny finds the Grimm’s in the parlor, they look at _him_ as though Johnny is the one who fell ill. 

“Oh John…” Ben sighs. He stands behind Alicia who is sitting on an armchair, holding her very giant stomach. Johnny fiddles with the buttons of his coat and looks between them imploringly. 

“Johnny we… We’re so sorry.” Alicia says quietly, “If we’d known his character we—”

“Please,” Johnny interrupts harshly, “you’re both giving me a fright. Just come out with it, I implore.” 

Ben sighs, looking at least apologetic for his obliqueness. “Right, I-uh… Well it’s Daken, kid. He… He ran off with his father’s wealth.” Ben says. He looks down at his feet, shuffling them around in a nervous twitch. 

“ _What?”_ Johnny gasps. 

“Yeah, I just got a telegram from his dad. They’re searchin’ for him now, but I… I’m just real sorry, John, I know you had thoughts with him—”

“No,” Johnny shakes his head, “I did not have plans with Mr. Akihiro, I assure you. Do not concern yourself with my feelings, you should help your friend Ben. If he needs anything, I would be happy to support in any way I could.” 

Ben looks utterly shocked at Johnny’s quick dismissal of the once certain betrothal. It makes Johnny want to laugh. How far his affections have come from where they were last Autumn. In a far corner of his mind he wishes he could be back there — he could be clueless to the way his heart aches for one. To be silly and months younger. 

“Oh, well… That’s real nice, Johnny.” Ben says softly. In that gentle voice he reserves for times like these. When Johnny is not mocking, nor being purposefully difficult. 

Johnny gives Ben a hug, and gently kisses Alicia’s cheek before leaving them again. He declines their request for tea. He just wants to be alone for the time being. 

He’s walking back to Baxter, just crossing the front fields off the main road leading in, when Mr. Parker shouts his name. 

“Johnny! Wait a moment.” He calls, while jogging to meet him. Still feeling raw from their last conversation, and Johnny’s subsequent revelations, he does not look Mr. Parker directly in the eye but says, as he continues walking, 

“Hello, Mr. Parker—”

“Johnny I just heard about Daken, and I. _God_ , Johnny I am so sorry—” 

“It’s alright—”

“No, really.” Mr. Parker matches his pace. They are walking towards Mr. Storm’s favorite willow tree, and beyond that the back entrance. Johnny keeps his hands tightly held at his waist, while Mr. Parker beside him gesticulates about. His voice is high in pitch — as it gets when he is feeling particularly emotional about something — as he says, 

“Time… Time my dearest, Johnny, time will heal the wound. You will forget him, I swear—”

“You are very kind, Mr. Parker, but you are mistaken. I have no other regret with respect to Mr. Akihiro.” Johnny says in reply. He can not handle Mr. Parker’s pity — over the plights of a man who was once to be _Johnny’s_ — right now.

“He is a disgrace to the name of man.” Mr. Parker suddenly says rather viciously. Mr. Parker’s brow is furrowed, and his jaw clenched. He looks like he is steeling himself most ardently, lest he give in to his anger. “And to think he is to be rewarded with so much fortune. He uses people, and he wastes splendid things, and yet he will still go on in life with so much success. He is one fortunate man, indeed.” Peter laughs. Bitter and cold. 

Johnny scoffs, and says without thinking: “You speak as though you envy him.” 

“And I do envy him.” Mr. Parker suddenly says. He stops in his place. Johnny walks a step more before turning to look at him. Mr. Parker looks like he is struggling with something. His hands twitch at his sides and his eyes dart from Johnny’s, to the ground. Finally with a deep breath, and his fists clenched, he says with purpose: “In _one_ respect, he is.. Or I suppose, was... the object of my envy.” 

Johnny’s mouth opens, but he can do no more than gasp. He tries for words, but none come to him. Peter stares at him. Behind him, the afternoon sun begins to dip, and the sky is painted rose and orange. They are complimenting colors for Mr. Parker, Johnny thinks, and is very annoyed by this fact.

“You… Will not ask me _why_ I was envious?” Peter says suddenly with an incredulous shrug. Johnny shakes his head, unwilling to let himself believe Mr. Parker means what he thinks he does. 

Peter deadpans. “You are determined, I see, to… Have no curiosity… As to why, I. You know.” Peter is now waving at himself. His eyes are a bit frantic. He’s looking at Johnny like the younger man has perhaps sprouted wings. 

In true Mr. Parker fashion, he begins to ramble, his hands dancing in front of him like perhaps if he waves his hands around enough then what he’s saying will be clearer: “Alright, fine, if you’re going to be difficult then I’ll just… I’ll... Y’see I cannot be wise. I simply can’t, Johnny. I cannot be wise and hold my tongue, I must _tell_ you what you will not ask. Though I may wish it… Unsaid a moment later.” 

_No_ . Johnny begs to the heavens. Peter must see the way Johnny’s face collapses into grief because he begins to ramble again. Johnny holds up a firm hand and says with what strength he could muster, “Then do not speak it, Mr. Parker.” _Because there is no way I can hear you say what I think you will, and imagine you would wish to take it back from me._

Johnny begins to walk again. He makes it under the willow tree before Mr. Parker grabs his elbow and turns him. They are not standing particularly close, and for this Johnny is grateful.

Johnny squeezes his eyes closed and takes a deep breath in through his nose. He opens his eyes again and says, “If you wish to speak to me… As a _friend_ , or—”

Peter sighs, and he sounds so defeated. Like someone knocked the air clean out of him. He runs his hands through his hair while shaking his head and looking at the ground. Johnny continues, 

“If you need to ask my opinion, as a friend, I will hear whatever you like—”

“As a _friend,_ Johnny, that, I fear is the word I…” Peter drops his hands from his hair and shrugs his shoulders. His cheeks are pink, his lips bitten raw, and to Johnny’s horror there are tears budding in his eyes. He laughs and the sound is so horrible, it might as well be a cry, “Tell me, Johnny. Have I really no chance of ever succeeding?”

Johnny has no indication what his own face must say, but Mr. Parker suddenly looks resolved again. Despite the tear that falls from his eye, and the way he sniffles, he takes a step forward and straightens his broad shoulders. Ever the gentleman, he will always be. Johnny loves him so much, he can hardly stand to look at him. 

Peter clears his throat, and when he speaks again he speaks so quietly. “My dearest, Johnny, for dearest you will always be. My dearest, most beloved, Johnny — tell me once…” He takes in another deep wretched breath. His eyes never waver, but his hands tremble at his sides. “I cannot make speeches, I… If I loved you less, then perhaps I might be able to talk about it more. But you know what I am.” He laughs a little — shrugging and looking at him with the most sorrowful expression, “I have lectured you, and I’ve blamed you, and-and… God _knows_ I have been a difficult admirer — but you must understand, Johnny. Don’t you? You understand I would have it no other way? That I can have no other person?” 

And then he slowly lowers himself to one bent knee. He looks up at Johnny and says wetly, “You asked me so many months ago, what I knew of dependence. And I remember thinking you so naive. You are so _smart,_ but so naive, because how could you not tell my entire life has always depended on just one word from you.” With a shrug, and another laugh that sounds more like a cry, he asks, “Will you marry me?” 

Johnny stares at him. His mind racing. His heart racing. His breath ragged. Peter is looking at him with so much affection, and so much hope… Until suddenly his face turns to that of horror. 

“Um… Johnny.” He says slowly, and motions to his own nose. Johnny lifts his hand to his face and yelps when he finds his nose is bleeding. Peter is suddenly up on both feet again and is wrestling with the ascot he has tied around his neck. He presses the silk to Johnny’s nose with one hand, and the other grips the back of his neck. He instructs in a gentle voice, “Look up, my love, it will help prevent the bleeding—”

“I cannot marry you!” Johnny practically screeches. He is looking at Peter, and he _knows_ he is crying and heavens damn him, his nose is _bleeding._

Mr. Parker’s concern turns to shock as he shouts in reply, “What! Why!” 

“Y-You’re in love with Mary Jane! Or at least she’s in love with you! I cannot break yet another person’s heart.” 

“Johnny what in _god’s name_ —”

“You were speaking with her at your estate! Of farms and-and provincial life, and painting, and her beautiful hair, and babies perhaps—”

“You were eavesdropping?!”

Johnny realizes he’s pouting, but he can’t help it. “No I just assumed.”

“We were talking of no such things!” But suddenly Peter’s eyebrows lose their furrow and his lips purse in thought. He says almost as an afterthought, “Well, actually, we _were_ —”

“See?!” Johnny shoves Peter away (but keeps his ascot firmly placed to his nose). He is crying most profusely now. Peter holds both of his hands up in some placating gesture and says, 

“Not of _my_ farm, Johnny! Of Ms. Stacy’s! Don’t you know Gwen Stacy!”

“Of course I know Gwen Stacy, I know everyone in this town—”

“Well Mary Jane is quite _infatuated_ with Ms. Stacy so I was _helping her_ —”

“Oh what a darling couple.” Johnny gasps. 

“Johnny, what of this _‘breaking another persons heart_ —” 

“I hurt Wyatt.” Johnny’s lip trembles, and he shakes his head while he feels more blood pool into Mr. Parker’s silk, “I did not want to hurt Mary Jane as well. Especially after how cruel I was. And I could not imagine taking you from her—”

“Oh sweet Johnny, _please_ , the only heart you are breaking here is mine.” Peter says while pointing at his own chest. “And are you _kidding_ ? Ms. Walters and Wyatt have been seeing each other in private for weeks! Have you not noticed how much more chipper he’s become? And yes, you were harsh with Ms. Watson, but Mary Jane has told me of your basket and how overjoyed her aunt was to have it, _and_ your kind sentiments — Now _please_ , Johnny, can you answer—”

“Answer _what_?” Johnny takes the ascot from his face. It is rather soaked in blood, but when Johnny presses his fingers to his lip he feels no more wetness. 

He looks back up at Peter who has the most un-amused — the most utterly _baffled_ — expression Johnny has seen on him. “My _proposal_ , Johnny.” 

Johnny begins to laugh. Gleeful and unbidden and so _happy_ as he says, “I didn’t even realize that was a question, given how so obvious my reply is.” 

Peter’s own smile is growing. He has that _smirk_ on. That playful, impossible, handsome smirk which Johnny so hates and loves at the same time. “Obvious in that you… Do _not_ want to marry me—”

“Stop being so irritating, Mr. Parker!” Johnny gasps, “Of course I will—”

Suddenly there are long, warm arms holding his waist so tightly the air from his lungs come out in a gasp. Johnny can feel Peter’s smile from where it is pressed against his own parted lips. As if he cannot stop smiling for long enough to actually kiss him proper. 

Johnny wraps his arms around Peter’s neck, his hands curling into his brown hair. It is a simple kiss that is moreso them laughing against one another's mouths than anything. Johnny whispers, “My nose was just bleeding this is gross—”

“You can never be gross.” Peter replies quickly, kissing his cheekbone so tenderly Johnny nearly melts. “Though, admittedly, yes, that is pretty gross.” He then says. Johnny laughs, as does Peter. And not only can he feel the joy on Peter’s lips, but he can feel his laughter in his chest. 

—

It’s one of the biweekly nights that Peter comes for supper and talks with Mr. Storm about the economy and property. Johnny can hardly contain himself when he and Peter exchange quick glances from across the table. 

They’re all sitting in the parlor — Mr. Storm on an armchair by the fire, Johnny on a loveseat pretending to read, and Peter on an adjacent chair doing the same. Every time Johnny glances up, Peter is looking at him. His eyes are warm and fond, and Johnny wonders if he’s always looked so in love and Johnny has just never noticed it. 

“Do you feel a draft?” Mr. Storm suddenly snaps. Both men straighten at once and Peter stutters, 

“I-uh. I can’t say I do.” 

Mr. Storm looks utterly dissatisfied by the answer. Johnny looks back at his book, and then back at Peter who looks the way he does when Reed speaks with him about a particularly complex arithmetic equation. 

Peter clears his throat and says, in an experimenting tone which matches his expression, “Actually, I _do_ believe I feel one—”

Mr. Storm stands at once, looking both vindicated and triumphant, and says, “I _knew_ it! Herbie, get the screen!” In the sudden rush to get a screen for Mr. Storm, Peter slips from his armchair on to the loveseat beside Johnny. Herbie and a number of other butlers surround the room with tall, painted screens. One of which is placed directly in front of the loveseat. 

Johnny looks at the sudden wall of privacy placed before them, and nods in understanding. He turns to Peter with a raised brow and says, “Well… Never let it be said my husband is not talented.” 

“Oh the _most_ , talented.” Peter says while shifting on the seat. He places his arm around Johnny’s shoulders and folds his legs so he is practically facing him. Johnny places his discarded book at his side and turns to Peter. 

With his free hand Peter gently takes Johnny’s chin. He lifts his face, staring down at his mouth, and leans in to kiss him. 

Johnny gasps when he feels Peter’s warm lips, his hand coming up to rest against Peter’s chest. Peter’s lips slide against his so slowly — so much gentler than Johnny has ever known the man to be. They do this for what feels like an eternity, and yet not long enough in the slightest. Peter moves away just centimeters, before pressing lingering kisses against Johnny’s bottom lip. 

“I have wanted to do this for years.” He whispers against him. Johnny opens his eyes to see Peter’s long eyelashes fanned across his cheekbones. His mouth resting in a contented grin. 

“Yeah… Me too.” Johnny admits. Peter kisses the corner of his mouth and then leans away again, though he rests his hand on Johnny’s thigh. It seems, to Johnny’s utmost glee, he cannot refrain from touching him. 

They sit there in each other's space for a moment. Finally Johnny says, 

“I cannot leave my father.” He frowns, “He needs me.” 

“Then do not leave him.” Peter says at once.

Johnny frowns and asks, “What are you implying?” 

“I am implying that I will move here.”

Johnny’s eyes go wide. He opens his mouth, but before he can reply Peter leans forward again and kisses him. This time, Johnny returns the kiss with more vigor — his hands coming to hold the sides of Peter’s face as the man pushes against him. The kiss is deep and long, and Johnny feels suddenly very warm, until Peter pulls away again and says surely, 

“I need nothing in life but you, Johnny. My aunt will be less than half a mile away, and I could use the exercise. We will look after your father together, and it will be wonderful.” He says so simply. As if that’s all there is to it. And perhaps, it is. 

Johnny sighs in utter relief. He leans forward and presses his forehead to Peter’s shoulders, while his hands linger on his hard chest. Peter wraps his arms around his shoulders and hugs him closer. 

“Thank you, Peter. Thank you so much.” 

Peter rests his chin atop Johnny’s head and begins to laugh. A low, warm chuckle. 

“What is it?” Johnny asks, and pulls away. They are still pressed against one another, but now at least Johnny can see his face. 

“You… You called me _Peter_ .” Peter whispers. His eyes are _heady_ though they had no alcohol at supper. His pupils are blown wide. (It’s as though the sound of his name, illicites some sort of spirit in him that Johnny is want to explore.) 

One of Peter’s hands comes and rests against Johnny’s face and it looks like he’s seeing something incredible. Johnny’s heart races to think he is that incredible thing. 

“Well,” Johnny says with a playfully casual shrug, “I must now, or else how will we distinguish between two Mr. Parkers?” 

_**EPILOGUE:** _ _**TWO MONTHS LATER** _

“Are you _sure_ you do not want to do a joint wedding?” Johnny asks for the 500th time since he woke up that morning. And just as he’s replied the first 499 times, Wyatt grins and replies, 

“It’s alright, Johnny. Jennifer prefers a springtime wedding anyways.” 

“Alright,” Johnny huffs. He straightens his coat and rocks back and forth on his feet for a while. He’s facing the closed church house doors, knowing everyone from the village is there waiting to see whatever suit Robert Drake made custom for him. For his _wedding_. 

“Are you ready _now?”_

“Perhaps five more minutes?” Johnny squeaks. Wyatt scoffs, 

“Oh Johnny,” He says with that ever patient grin. Those kind eyes. Johnny wonders how he ever got so lucky to meet Wyatt Wingfoot. “C’mon. The ceremony won’t be too long and then we get to listen to Ben and Reed tell university stories all night while you and your new _husband_ gaze into each others eyes over wine. Perhaps Sue will accidentally light her dress on fire again. Can you imagine anything better?” 

“A guillotine?” Johnny says, entirely joking. Wyatt laughs, and Johnny giggles with him. Without any prompting, Wyatt opens the churchouse doors for him, and Johnny feels rooted to his place. Until, of course, the choir begins to sing, and everyone in the church house stands to watch him. Wyatt gently nudges his shoulder and Johnny enters the room. 

He takes his father’s arm at the beginning of the aisle adorned with ivory. The older man harrumphs under his breath, “It’s rather cold in here.” Johnny grins. 

“It is, isn’t it.” 

They walk down the aisle and Johnny spots Mary Jane Watson first (her hair makes it such that she is _always_ the first person one notices when entering a room, and Johnny has a suspicion she prefers it this way). Her arm is wrapped posessively around Gwen Stacy’s waist. Gwen, who is waging a valiant battle against the tears budding in her eyes. Johnny beams at the both of them. In their pew are more of Mr. Parker’s tenants who are all, give or take, in Gwen’s current state.

On the other side of the aisle is Sue who is openly, and uncaringly, sobbing. Franklin looks distressed in her arms — wiping away her tears with a confused frown — while Reed stands at their side and looks dangerously close to tears himself. (Val, in his arms, is the only one of the family who looks utterly uninterested in the whole event).

In the pew behind them is Ben and Alicia — each holding a different Grimm baby. The twins are, mercifully, asleep, and Johnny has to stifle his chuckle at Ben’s haggard expression. Nowadays his hair always looks like it’s been tugged on by very persistent, very tiny sets of hands. Alicia, on the other hand, looks perfect. 

Wyatt snuck into the pew behind Mary Jane and Gwen to join Jennifer’s side. Jennifer gives him a quick kiss on the cheek before turning to Johnny and giving him a thumbs up. Johnny, as subtle as he could, gave her one in return. 

Johnny and Franklin made it to the altar, where Peter stood with his back to them. Johnny knew Peter loved him for a number of reasons — the most recent being his agreeing to marry in a church with all its ‘silly traditions’, as he calls them. Johnny promised May they would have a proper wedding in a synagogue as well, which Peter _also_ bemoaned because that meant he had to wear a dress suit _twice_ . This, then, led to a rather heated argument over the fact he would need _two_ suits because Johnny would not be caught dead marrying him twice in the _same_ suit. Peter argued the only person who would know the difference was God. Johnny threatened divorce. Ultimately, Johnny won this argument by using Peter’s weaknesses (seeing Johnny cry) to his advantage.

Johnny hugged his father before stepping up beside Peter who was finally able to look over and see him. 

Peter looks just as nervous as Johnny feels. But his smile is so warm and so real that Johnny can not believe it took them so long to get here. 

“Am I standing correctly?” Peter whispers as the minister begins introductions. 

“Yes, you look very handsome.” Johnny replies under his breath.

Peter scoffs, “I always look handsome, I’m asking if I’m standing the way a groom is supposed to.” 

“No, actually, you’re standing the way a chimpanzee is supposed to.”

“Oh good, that’s what I was going for.” 

Johnny bites his bottom lip and looks down at his feet to prevent himself from laughing. Moments later he feels Peter’s long fingers brush against his own. Johnny releases his clenched fist and Peter slips his fingers through his, squeezing. 

“I love you.” Peter says, and looks over at him openly to whisper so. Johnny smiles, and wonders if he looks as in love as he feels. If Peter is finally seeing Johnny Storm in love. 

“I love you, too.” He says, uncaring that the preacher is glaring at them both. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> every fiber of my being wants to make a sequel to this in peter's pov (midnight sun style)... but for now! she's over!
> 
> you can also find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/princeofgothm) and [tumblr](https://kree-lar.tumblr.com)


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